


Oathbreaker

by Mercury5555



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and occasional fluff, F/M, Fuck the Boltons, Jon Snow is King in the North, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon finds out the truth, No Harem, Not for fans of the Night's Watch, The North remembers, Vows are wind, fAegon is a Blackfyre Pretender
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2019-08-18 17:23:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16521428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mercury5555/pseuds/Mercury5555
Summary: Jon meets Val instead of Ygritte and the true enemy.





	1. Jon

**JON**

The fire glimmered like a star against the dark surface of the mountain. The Skirling Pass lay before them and somewhere up there sat a band of wildlings watching the barren landscape for potential enemies.

“Fire’s life up here,” Qhorin Halfhand added hoarsely, his breath rising into the air like mist. ”But for us it could mean death.”

Jon knew what he meant. The Halfhand hadn’t allowed them to make fire since entering the mountains. All they had were their clothes, cloaks and furs to keep each other warm. 

“We need to get up there,” the Halfhand added and pointed at the jagged mountains looming before them. ”Two men should be enough, though it will be a hard climb.”

 “I will go,” offered Stonesnake. He was a short wiry man, near fifty and sported a grey beard, but looked stronger than he seemed. His eyes were even better. Even at night he had the sight of a hawke.

“I will go too,” Jon added eagerly, wanting to prove himself worthy.

 The Halfhand stared at him for a brief moment, his dark eyes narrowed in concentration. Jon didn’t flinch, but flexed his hand when a cold gust of wind washed over him. The sharp wind only helped to increase the pain on his burned hand.

“Good,” the Halfhand said at last and jerked his head at Ghost. ”But the wolf will remain with us. His white fur could reveal our position to the enemy.

 Then he shifted his attention back to Stonesnake.

 “Throw down a burning brand once it’s safe. Then we will join you.”

 They took a short meal before setting out to fulfill their task. Jon received a long coil of rope while Stonesnake carried a bag of iron pikes and a small hammer, its head wrapped in a thick felt.

 Jon had taken his leave from Ghost before setting out with Stonesnake. It felt as if someone tore a piece from him, but it was necessary.

  _I will come back for you_ , boy.

Stonesnake took the lead and Jon followed, working his way up a steep, twisting trail. Jon felt naked without the mail they had to leave behind. The climbing took all his effort and concentration. Stonesnake was different. He found his way even in the darkness.

 Ever slowly, they climbed up the Skirling Pass, a long twisting course that went up around a succession of icy peaks and valleys. It was a barren landscape, devoid of life and men alike.

The wind was worse. It cut in the skin like Valyrian steel. Even the trees looked odd, their stamps bent and broken, their tree tops gnarled and bare. They looked dead and frozen in time, icicles their only decoration.

Arriving at the top they were frozen to the bones. Ever silently, he unsheathed Longclaw, before following after his brother, further up the trail snaking its way along the mountain. Sometimes the trail grew so thin that he had to shuffle along like a crab. Thus, one step after another they continued to move.

 Hours had passed, but it felt like an eternity. The wind grew only fiercer and Jon clung to the mountains like a child to his mother’s teats.

Stonesnake even made a fitting jape about it, but that didn’t help. Beneath him spread a sea of darkness and above his head sea of twinkling stars. Either way he would drown.

The narrow trail ended where a massive shoulder of black granite thrust out from the side of the mountain.

“We need to get up,” Stonesnake whispered and tied one end of his rope around his waist and the other around Jon. ”Follow me when the rope grows taut.”

 Jon gave him a brief nod and Stonesnake started to climb with fingers and feet, faster than Jon was able to make sense of.

He watched him, trying to learn from the way he placed his feet. It made him think of Bran, who used to climb every wall, tree and window with ease. And yet he fell. 

 _I will tell him about this climb when I see him again_ , he told himself and peeled off his gloves, before following after Stonesnake. This part of their journey proved even more treacherous. Once his right foot slipped, but the gods of his father must have protected him because he didn’t slip.

Soon even the tips of his fingers were cold and numb. He gritted his teeth to banish away the pain. Up and up they went, the fire and the moonlight their only source of light.

“Come,” Stonesnake whispered and offered his hand to Jon. One pull and he reached the top. Before him spread a fissure of ice, but Jon didn’t care. Then they crawled along a shelf until they got a glimpse at the flickering campfire beyond the lip of the cliff.

 The wildlings had built their camp in a shallow depression above the pass and with a sheer drop below and rock behind them. 

One of them was asleep, curled up beneath a mountain of skins. Jon saw nothing, but a glimpse of blond hair. The second sat grouched over the flames, feeding twigs and branches to the curling flames. The third one stood and watched the pass below, a sea of darkness spreading before him. Slung around his back he wore a horn.

 Stonesnake patted his arm and pointed at the wildling with the horn. Jon swallowed hard and knew what he had to do. This would be his first kill.

 He noticed the tremor in his hand.

  _Did all men feel like this before their first battle?_

 Yet there was no time to ponder this question further. Stonesnake came upon the wildlings like a hawke on its prey.

Yet there was no time to ponder this question further. Stonesnake stormed forward and leapt down on the wildlings like a hawke on its prey. Jon unsheathed his blade and followed suit, his heart threatening to jump out of his chest.

Jon moved as quickly as possible. His enemy, the wildling with the horn, was barely able to bring it to his lips before Stonesnake cut him down. The one seated by the fire attacked Jon with a burning brand. Jon stepped back, swung his sword and cut deep into his enemy’s shoulder. But this one didn’t simply die. With his last strength he twisted Jon’s hand and pulled the sword out of his grasp. By then the one sleeping by the fire had risen and was about to grab for his spear. Jon had no time for his sword and freed his dagger. He grasped a mob of blond hair and held the dagger to the man’s…no…girl’s neck…

 He froze.

 “A girl,” he said to no one in particular. A very angry girl was looking back at him. Her face was long, sharp and framed by ragged blond hair. Her eyes were grey, thought lighter than Arya’s.

 “She is a watcher,” Stonesnake added. ”A wildling too. Kill her.”

 She didn’t look afraid as her pale eyes flickered to her dead companion. _Her lover perhaps_ , he wondered, by the way she gritted her teeth. She couldn’t be much older than him, but she had nearly impaled him with her spear.

 “Will you yield?” he asked her instead and met her narrowed gaze.

“I yield,” she replied and gave him an angry glance. _This one would rip off my balls if I wasn’t armed._

 “The Halfhand said nothing about taking captives,” Stonesnake remarked in a disapproving tone.

 “He never said no,” Jon countered and let go off the girl’s hair.

 “She is a spear wife,” Stonesnake explained and pointed at the spear, lying discarded on the ground. ”Give her a chance and she will drive the tip that spear up your arse.”

 “I won’t,” Jon promised and kicked the spear away. Then he turned to look at the girl. ”Do you have a name?”

 “Val,” she answered haughtily and jerked her head at the dead man.”And that was Jarl. You will join him soon.”

 Jon nodded his head in acknowledgement and picked up his sword.

 “You are now my captive, Val.”

She frowned.

“And you. I gave you my name.”

 “Jon Snow.”

 She frowned and bit her lips, before giving her thoughts.

 “Mother Mole would call it an evil name. But I don’t believe in such nonsense.”

Jon was not surprised.

 “It’s the name of a bastard. My father was Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell.”

 The girl didn’t answer and brushed hair out of her face. Stonesnake seemed oddly amused by their interaction.

 “Isn’t it the captive who is supposed to tell us things?” the man asked and grouched down beside the fire. “Not that she will tell you anything. These Wildlings are a strong-willed lot.”

 Then he thrust a long branch into the flames, took two steps and flung it over the pass.

 It was the sign.

“You ought to burn the dead, crow.”

“We would need a bigger fire for that,” Stonesnake replied and snorted. ”Are there other wildlings close by, girl?”

“I wasn’t talking about the living, crow,” the girl replied mockingly. ”I was talking about the the dead.”

 Jon shuddered and recalled dead man that attacked the Lord Commander.

“Maybe we should do as she says.”

 Stonesnake laughed and solved the problem in a simpler way. He knelt down beside the slain man and stripped him of his cloak and boots. Then he threw him over his shoulders and tossed the body in the dark abyss, before starting to strip the other one. Jon helped him, the girl’s eyes burning into the back of his neck. He would have preferred to burn the bodies.

 Tears were shining in the girl’s eyes when he turned to look at her. 

“Why are you here?” Jon asked her and brushed his hand over the pommel of his sword. 

She averted her gaze. 

“None of your business, crow.”

“What waits us beyond the pass?” Stonesnake asked and sat down beside the fire. The flames were dancing, alight in colors of orange, red and yellow.

 “The Free Folk,” she replied in a threatening tone and bared her white teeth.

 “How many?” Jon asked, not trying to flinch.

 “Hundreds and thousands,” she replied proudly. She seemed very pleased with herself.

 “But why come here?” Stonesnake asked and rubbed his hands together. “What’s there to find up her in the Frostfangs? What’s Mance searching for?”

 She remained silent and averted her gaze.

 “Have you seen my Uncle, Benjen Stark? Did you meet him?”

 “Never met him,” she snapped back and watched the flames. The wind made the flames dance.

The girl named Val shuddered.

“We should leave this place,” she said and rubbed her shoulders.”The cold means they are close.”

“Who are you talking about, girl?” Stonesnake asked and started to roast a piece of onion over the fire.

 Jon believed to know who she was talking about.

 “You mentioned the dead,” he said and searched her gaze. ”Do you think they will come crawling up the mountain to get us?”

 Her eyes widened in surprise.

 “You know them, crow?”

 “Aye,” he confirmed and pulled off his glove, to reveal the burn stretching over his finger cups. “A dead man tried to kill the Lord Commander. I killed him, but burned my hand.”

“They touched you!” she exclaimed and backed away from him. ”That’s why they are here. We need to get away! Now!”

 Jon was frightened by her vitriol reaction. She didn’t sound mad, but very afraid.

 “Don’t you listen to her, Snow. This one is trying to fool you. Nobody can harm us up here.”

 “Then you are even more stupid than I thought!” she snapped back. ”The Others can’t be stopped by mountains. They are made of snow and ice. We are nothing but prey for them…”

 Jon didn’t believe his ears. The Others were mere fairy tales. Old Nan used to tell them stories about them. Bran always loved these scary tales.

“We are going nowhere!” Stonesnakes replied. ”Now sit down or I will throw you down as well.”

 “Calm yourself, brother,” Jon added, trying to calm the situation, his eyes still fixed on his burned hand. Then he slipped on his glove and shifted his attention back to the girl. 

“We can’t move from this position,” he told her firmly, but wanted to do nothing more than to follow her advice. Stonesnake gave him an approving nod and wrapped his fur around his shoulders. Then he closed his eyes, using the time to gather his strength. Jon wanted to do the same, but he had a captive to guard.

  _That’s your own fault_.

 The girl didn’t sound like she was trying to fool them. He held a dagger to her throat and she didn’t even flinch. And now she was shivering. ”Tell me…Were these two men your kin?”

 “The one you killed was stolen by me.”

 Jon didn’t know what to make of her words.

 “What does that mean? How can a man be stolen?”

She pulled her furred cloak tighter around her shoulders and eyed the jagged trail leading down the other side of the mountain. This path was wider than the one Jon and Stonesnakes had used.

“The same way a man can steal a woman. He goes to her, holds a knife to his throat and takes her. That is meant by stealing. I did it with Jarl and you did it with me, but I will soon return the favor.”

“Take them…,” Jon muttered and realized what she meant. His cheeks burned, despite the cold. ”I see. But I didn’t steal you. I took you captive…that’s all.”

 “Be silent you two!” Stonesnakes grumbled at them. ”Your talk is making my head squirm!”

 Jon was about to open his mouth when a sharp brush of wind washed over them.

 It felt as if his skin was caressed by cold iron.

 “They have come,” the girl whispered and eyed her spear. ”We need….,” she added, but her words were drowned out by the brewing storm.

 Jon rose to his feet and kicked Stonesnake.

 “Wake up!” he shouted. ”Someone is coming!”

 The man grumbled and searched for his weapon.

The girl didn’t wait to pick up her spear and Jon made no attempt to stop her.

He felt it. Something was amiss here. He had never felt this cold.

Then he heard it. It sounded like the sound of cracking snow.

“What are you waiting for, crow!” the girl shouted at him. ”Follow me…we need to get…,” she continued, but stopped in her tracks when she saw _it_. It was lithe man with pale flesh, his eyes as bright as frost.

 It happened so quickly quickly. Jon wasn’t even able to cry out, before the man’s bade buried itself deep into Sandsnake’s shoulder.

It was a strange blade, made of a pale glimmering material that cut through Stonesnakes’ flesh as if it was butter.

 With a quick movement the man freed its strange blade and moved towards Jon.

 “What are you?” Jon demanded to know.

 The man didn’t answer. He moved as quickly as lightening and dealt him a quick blow at his left side. Jon parried the attack, bringing forth a high and ear curling sound.

 The blades remained like this, the man staring down at Jon with his piercing blue eyes.

 His burned hand started to pulse painfully, but he had not time to think. In a swift movement the blades parted and the man snapped his sword at Jon like a whip.

 This man was not human. He didn’t move one inch as Jon dealt him a round of savage blows. Again and again the blades met, the high sound unbearable to his ears.

 Again the blades parted and the man aimed at Jon’s right side. Jon lifted his hand to parry, but a sharp pain unlike anything he ever experienced surged through his hand.

 Jon parried the blow, but slipped to the side, a whimper escaping from his mouth as he stumbled backwards into the snow, his blade slipping out of his hand.

 The warmth of his blood flowing from the wound on his side was the first thing he noticed. It was almost pleasant, despite the pain.

Jon looked up, the man looming above him with his blade read to strike him down.

The deathblow never came. A spear hit the creature, though it showed little effect. The spear bounced off its chest as if it was covered with thick armor.

 Jon didn’t care. Driven by desperation he grabbed his sword, pulled himself to his feet and brought his blade down on the man’s neck. He expected that his blade would bounce off the man’s body like the spear, but the Valyrian cut deep.

Jon was so overwhelmed that he lost his footing and stumbled to the ground. 

“We need to leave, crow!” the girl snapped at him in an impatient manner and slipped under his arm, trying to steady him.

 “I can’t,” he protested half-heartedly, but his feet moved by their own accord. Together, they stumbled down the ragged mountain path, the world before them lightened by the moonlight.

 “I know a cave,” she told him, her warm breath brushing his cheek. ”There we can make a fire…” she added, but her voice was drowned out by the howling wind.

 Jon couldn’t help but to grunt in pain. More and more blood flooded out of his wound and met the snow in a steaming sound. His whole skins and breeches were drenched in it, but the girl didn’t care.

 She pulled him forward, though Jon didn’t understand why she would try to save him _. I killed her people._

 _One step after another_ , he told himself. They somehow managed to reach the bottom of the pass, an icy surface spreading before them.

  _I see no cave_ , he wanted to say and slipped to the side, his strength leaving him. Together they tumbled to the ground and kissed the ice.

“Leave me,” he croaked helplessly, but was surprised when she pulled him to the side.

“You won’t die now, crow,” he heard her faint reply. ”There is no joy in killing a wounded man. Now get up!”

 Jon tried, but his body felt too heavy. The loss of blood should make his body lighter.

 _So much blood_ , he thought when he noticed the blood-drenched snow.

 _Bloody bastard_ , Theon had called him more than once. Seeing his hated smile dancing in front of his eyes revived Jon’s strength and he pulled himself back to his feet.

“Good…now move,” the girl gasped and exhaled deeply. He gritted his teeth and held onto her shoulder as they continued onwards, in a slow pace. They slipped several times, but they made it to the other side, where another mountain jutted into the sky.

A flock of crows circled above their heads, their croaks echoing through the night.

“Snow! Snow! Snow!” he heard them croak. Jon thought he was going mad as Val pulled him up another steep path. There, hidden was a thin opening, barely visible behind the long icicles. ”Snow! Snow! Snow!”

Jon had no strength left and felt a familiar feeling of pain surging through his hand.

This time he welcomed the darkness.

…


	2. Jon

**Jon**

Jon found only darkness when he opened his eyes. The pain in his side had subsided, but it was still there, a subtle tingling feeling.

Slowly, he upped himself to the side and grunted in pain when his wound brushed against the ground.

“Don’t move,” a distant and familiar voice broke the silence. The bright torchlight blinded him momentarily, but then he noticed the wildling girl, no Val, looming above him. She must have stripped her layers of pelt and was only garbed in grey breeches, boots and a dark tunic. Her hair was no longer disheveled, but properly plaited. ”It is bad for the wound.”

The wound…it was the work of these monsters. _The Others_ , Val had called them. They were supposed to be fairy tales and nothing more. They were supposed to be gone from this world and yet here he was, cut open like a pig. With much effort he pulled himself back to his feet. Carefully, he touched the blood-drenched bandages and winced when another jolt of pain surged through his body.

He trembled and lifted his head to look at Val.

“How long have I been asleep? How did I get here?”

His strained voice was an indication that he had been unconscious for a long time.

“This strange man helped us,” she explained and climbed down a twisted root, snaking its way through the earth. “He led me here where these Children took care of you.”

“Children…,” Jon muttered to himself, panic taking hold of him. He left his brother. The Halfhand will think me dead. And Ghost, he will be waiting for me. ”What are you talking about?”

He gritted his teeth and tried to pull himself up while balancing himself against the wall. He walked like a newborn babe, barely able to set one foot after another.

 Val huffed and grabbed his arm, steadying him.

“You are bloody stubborn,” she remarked and helped him move on to the next room. ”And a pain in the ass. I shouldn’t be here…I should be with my people.”

“As should I,” he agreed.

“You don’t need to convince me,” she countered. ”You need to convince _them_ _to let us go_.”

“You are finally awake. The Three-Eyed-Crow will see you now,” a whispery voice greeted him. Jon’s head darted in the direction of the voice and found one of _them_ , seated on a large root.

This person looked like a small girl, but it possessed the voice of a woman, high and sweet unlike he had ever heard before.

“What are you?”

“The First Men called us Children,” the girl replied and moved closer, her golden eyes bright like two twin stars. ”We serve the Three-Eyed-Crow. He protects us from our enemy.”

“Your enemy?” he asked and let go of Val’s shoulder. He had a good idea who the girl was talking about, but he wanted to hear it from her mouth.

“The Others,” Val added. ”The being you killed.”

All these memories washed over him like a current overwhelming a ship. Even now he saw those piercing blue eyes staring back at him through the darkness.

And yet he was able to kill one with his sword.

He killed one with his sword.

“My sword,” he muttered and realized that he had yet to see it. ”Where is my sword?”

“I retrieved it,” Val assured him. ”The man who led us here helped me, but they took it away.”

“We will give it back,” the Child replied and gave Jon a curious look. ”But first you have to speak to the Three-Eyed-Crow. He can tell you more. Come now.”

Jon wanted to refuse. This was all wrong. He shouldn’t be here. He should be with his brothers.

“Let me help you,” Val whispered and called him back to the present. ”You can barely stand.”

He gritted his teeth.

“I can walk on my own.”

He didn’t see her reaction, but heard the mockery in her voice.

 “As you please, Lord Crow.”

 “Jon,” he corrected as the Child led them through the flickering darkness. ”That is my name.”

“Jon,” she corrected herself and walked beside him, her torch lightening their way.

He smiled despite the pain.

“You saved me, though you swore to kill me. I am trying to make sense of that.”

“Who says I won’t do that later,” she promised, though Jon noticed the hint of amusement in her voice.

_Maybe she changed her mind._

Yet there was no time for jesting. The task of setting one step after another was too engaging. He was somewhere underground, so much he knew when he looked at the walls. They were made of earth, stone and thick roots twisting through the dark soil. Yet what surprised him most was the color of the roods. They were pale like snow.

 _A weirwood tree_ , he guessed and stumbled over something that had blocked his path.

“You should have listened to me,” Val chided him, but Jon ignored her. He looked down and took in the bones littering the bones beneath his feet. As they continued to move along the narrow path, he noticed skulls of all kinds of animals. He saw the skulls of dogs, wolves, mammoths and even humans.

At last they entered a large cavernous room, lightened by torches and pale moonlight falling through the overgrown sealing.

There beneath a large weirwood tree sat a pale lord in ebony finery tangled in a nest of roots. His body was incredibly thin and his clothes rotten. He looked like a living corpse, his skin pale like milk and a bloody stain covered half his cheek and neck.

“Jon Snow!” the Child announced him like herald its King.

“Welcome,” the pale lord said, his voice thin and weak. ”I welcome you.”

“Who are you? Why did you help us?”

“I have been watching you, Jon Snow,” the pale lord replied. ”All these years I have been watching you grow and now you have finally come, my child.”

“Child,” Jon repeated in confusion. ”I am not your child. I don’t even know you.”

“But I have known you. I created you, by planting visions in an eager mind. I am as much as your father as the man who planted his seed in your mother.”

Jon stepped closer to the tree, unable to believe his ears. He had dreamed of his mother more than once. His heart was beating violently as he took in the pale lord’s wrinkled face, framed by spindle-like white hair. His one eyes was red like the sap of the weirwood.

“You know my mother?”

“I do know her,” he confirmed and smiled. His mouth was devoid of teeth. It was an ugly sight. ”And I do know your father. I can show you, but not now. First you must heal. What I am going to show you will take your strength.”

He wanted to believe him. His sweet promise filled his heart with longing, but he also recalled his duty.

“I need to return…,” he protested, but the pale lord shook his head.

“The Night’s Watch is nothing more than a rotten corpse ready to be discarded. They are fighting the Wildlings while the real enemy is on the march. They are not worth your effort.”

“They are my brothers!” Jon snapped back, though not long ago he thought the same way. Many of them were thieves, murderers and rapists, yet among them were also good and honorable men like Sam, Pyp, Grenn and Lord Commander Mormont.

“You seem to know these Others,” Jon countered. ”I could warn my brothers.”

“They wouldn’t listen. Men can only believe what they see and the Others are crafty. They will not show their true strength before it is already too late.”

Jon sighed in frustration and stumbled backwards. Val stood not far from him, her torch clutched to her chest and her grey eyes fixed at the pale lord.

His head hurt and he felt dizzy. Val didn’t hesitate to steady him.

“You are still weak, Jon Snow,” the pale lord told him. ”Go and rest. Then I will show you the truth.”

“He is right,” Val whispered. ”Come. Let me help you.”

This time Jon didn’t refuse her help.

…

Jon couldn’t believe he was here. He used to make fun of Bran for listening to Old Nan’s tales, but now he felt like a fool. _Grumpkins and snarks_ , Lord Tyrion had called them when they stood atop the Wall and Jon watched him piss from the top.

Now he realized how little they knew of the world beyond the Wall, a world of ice and creatures long forgotten in history.

Now he saw them with his own eyes. The Others.

Just thinking of their cold touch made him shudder.

“Still staring at the wall, Lord…No Jon,” Val’s voice snapped him out of his reverie. ”Forgive me…it is a bad habit.”

He gave her a wry smile and noticed the bundle of fish in her hand.

“Did you get it from the river?”

“Aye,” she confirmed. ”Leaf showed me the best place. I told her that humans can’t live by acorn paste alone.”

Jon’s mouth watered at the thought of proper meat. So far they had lived by acorn paste. It was enough to fill the belly, but it was bitter and hard to digest. Even now his last meal lay heavy in his stomach.

In silence, Val prepared the fish while Jon made a small fire. Once he had finished he noticed one of the Children. To Jon they all looked the same, a golden-eyed and doe-skinned.

“What’s the matter, Twigs?” Val asked amusedly. ”Are you afraid of Jon?”

The Child named Twigs frowned and climbed over the twisting roots.

“You shouldn’t make fire. It is dangerous.”

“We are tired of eating acorn paste,” Val insisted.

“Why can’t you eat it like that?” the child asked and pointed at the fish. ”It is dead.”

“We prefer it roasted,” Val explained and started to stick the fish on sharpened pieces of wood. They were pale like the bark of a weirwood tree.

Val rolled her eyes when she noticed his disapproving frown.

“There is no other wood available,” she explained quickly and started to roast the fish over the small flame.

When Jon tasted the hot meat he no longer cared that she had used the bark of the weirwood as a cooking instrument. The meat tasted heavenly and he couldn’t help but to smile.

Twigs gave them a mystified looks as she watched them eat.

Val seemed bothered by this and handed offered the Child a roasted piece of fish.

“Here…try it.”

Twigs eyed her with wide eyes and picked the piece of meat from the wooden stick. The Child sniffed at it, before putting it into her mouth.

“And?” Val asked. ”Did you like it?”

“It tastes like burned meat,” Twigs stated matter-of-factly and met Jon’s gaze. ”You look better. The Three-Eyed-Crow thinks so as well. He wants to see you now.”

Jon swallowed hard, but nodded his head in understanding. Whatever this Three-Eyed-Crow wanted to tell him about his mother, he wanted to settle this matter as soon as possible.

_I need to return to Castle Black._

Twigs moved swiftly while Jon stumbled through the darkness. Val offered to help him, but he wanted to stand on his own feet.

Along the way he spotted more of the Children. They were all small and garbed in the barest of clothing, flowers, twigs and other plants braided in their hair.

Jon didn’t understand their language. To his ears it sounded like a song, high and different than anything he had ever heard.

He was not even sure if the other Children were able to understand him. Only Leaf and Twigs spoke to them, but only sparsely. And when Jon tried to ask them questions they avoided giving him answers.

Jon gasped in relief when he spotted the bones littering the ground. It meant they were close to the large cavernous room that harbored the Three-Eyed-Crow.

The pale lord hadn’t changed since their last interaction. His one red eye opened when Jon stepped closer towards the weirwood.

Just looking at the corpse-like man made Jon uncomfortable, though he tried to hide it as best as possible.

“Welcome back, Jon Snow,” the pale lord greeted him. ”Are you prepared to see the truth?”

Jon exhaled deeply and spoke.

“I want to see my mother.”

“We all wish to be close to those we lost. I sometimes dream of my mother or the girl I loved. Those are wonderful dreams, but what I am going to show you is not meant to bring you happiness. It is meant to show you the truth, no matter how cruel.”

“Truth,” Jon repeated and noticed that Twigs had appeared at the foot of the tree. It carried a bowl filled with a strange paste. It was red like the sap of the weirwood tree. “How do you intend to show me the truth?”

“Through the weirwood tree,” the pale lord explained. ”You are no greenseer, but you have the blood of the First Men. It is possible for you to behold visions, but I have need of your lifeblood to accomplish it.”

“My blood?” Jon asked.

“Only a pinch,” The pale lord explained.

“Here,” Twigs explained and handed him a sharpened bone. Jon didn’t trust this man, but he doubted they would allow him to leave until he went through with this. They also had his sword.

Jon took the sharpened piece of bone and brought it to his hand. It hurt, but it was nothing compared to the pain the Other had dealt him.

He balled his fist and held his hand over the bowl. A few drops of his lifeblood were enough, before Twigs started to mix the waste with his blood.

“Drink,” Twigs once she was had finished. ”You have to swallow it whole.”

Jon exhaled deeply and took the bowl from Twigs’ hand.

He exchanged a quiet look with Val, who kept her distance from the tree. She didn’t voice it openly, but she seemed afraid of the Three-Eyed-Crow. Not that Jon faulted her for it.

Jon sniffed at paste. Then he drank.

The paste was bitter and made him want to gag.

Jon squeezed his eyes together as he continued to drink deeply.

“Now come closer,” the pale lord told him. ”Touch the tree.”

Jon swayed like a man too deep in his cups as he tried to put one foot after another. It was hard not stumbled over the twisting roots that grew only thicker the closer he was to the tree.

“There beneath the face,” the pale lord explained. ”Then close your eyes.”

Carefully, Jon touched the bark of the tree and closed his eyes.

Instantly, a feeling of sickness washed over him. Every pore of his body thrummed with a tingling sensation as the darkness before him was lightened by a blinding white light.

Suddenly, he was no longer in the cave, but found himself transported to a warm place. A barren landscape stretched as far as the eye could reach.

 _Where am I_ , he wondered and spotted an old watch tower, located on a hill.

The sound of horse hooves caused him to turn around. Far off in the distance he spotted a handful of riders, leaving only dust in their wake.

Jon climbed up the hill to get a better look and noticed three more men. These three were not mounted and seemed to wait for the approaching riders.

The sight of their armor confused him only more. They were garbed in polished armor, a white cloak draped around their shoulders.

Jon didn’t know them, but they were dressed like members of the Kingsguard.

The riders dismounted a good distance away from these three men, their blades raised. They approached at a slow pace and stopped when they spotted the three members of the Kingsguard.

Jon froze when he saw the leader of the riders.

It was his father, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell.

“We looked for you on the Trident,” Lord Eddard Stark greeted the white-cloaked men, his face grim and detached.

“We were not there,” one of the white-cloaked men replied calmly. He was an elderly man, his dark hair lined with grey streaks, but his toned body told Jon that he knew how to use a sword.

“Woe to the usurper if we had been,” another one of the white-cloaked men grumbled, his voice muffled by the visor of his helmet.

“When King’s Landing fell Ser Jaime slew your King with a golden sword,” his father replied, in a threatening tone. ”We wondered where you were?”

“Far away,” the elderly knight grumbled. ”If we had been there King Aerys would yet sit the Iron Throne and our false brother would burn in hell.”

“We lifted the siege in Storm’s End. The Lords Tyrell and Redwyne dipped their banners and all their knights bend their knee to pledge us fealty,” his father countered and tightened the grip on his blade. Jon had never seen him angrier. This was not the calm-mannered man he knew.

“Our knees don’t bend easily, my Lord,” the elderly man replied mockingly.

“Ser William Darry fled to Dragonstone with your Queen and Prince Viserys,” his father replied calmly, but Jon saw the fire in his eyes. He wanted to fight. He wanted to kill.

“Ser William is a good man and true,” the elderly man countered coldly. ”But not of the Kingsguard.”

“The Kingsguard does not flee. We swore a vow,” the man with the helmet added impatiently.

“And now it begins,” the youngest among the three added. It was by his wondrous blade that Jon recognized him.

This man was no other than Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning.

His father exhaled deeply and raised his own blade, before he finally answered.

“No, now it ends.”

Soon the riders and the three knights of the Kingsguard were embroiled in a battle for survival.

Jon could only stare in awe as Ser Arthur Dayne down cut down two of his father’s companions as if they were nothing but green boys. The elderly knight was also quick, but one of his father’s companions was able to sneak behind his back and buried his blade in his side. Another one buried his blade deep in his back and he slumped to the ground like a puppet without strings.

The one with the helmet met a familiar fate, but managed to take down another one of his father’s companions.

At last only his father and Ser Arthur Dayne remained. Left and right, the blades met. It looked as if they were painting invisible pictures in the air.

Their breathing grew labored as they continued to exchange blows, but it was not hard to see that Ser Arthur Dayne was the superior swords man. A gaping wound painted his cloak red, but he continued to fight as if it was nothing more than a simple cut.

He continued to parry his father’s blows as if it was mere child’s play. Again the blades parted, but Ser Arthur showed no mercy and aimed at his father’s left side.

His father’s painful grunt made Jon wince. He was barely able to stand and his blade slipped out of his hand.

“What are you waiting for?” his father beckoned the Sword of the Morning.

Jon was confused. His father always avoided speaking of his time in the war, but he heard from his father’s lips that he killed Ser Arthur Dayne.

 _Did he lie_ , Jon wondered as Ser Arthur Dayne raised his blade for the death blow. _It can’t be._

Yet it never came to that. Someone, one of his father’s companions, buried his dagger in Ser Arthur’s back.

This had to be Lord Howland Reed. His father had told him that he saved his life, but he never told his children that he saved him from Ser Arthur Dayne.

The famous swordsman fell to his knee, a choking sound leaving his mouth as more and more blood rolled down his chest. The man grunted in pain and his beautiful sword slipped out of his hand.

His father didn’t hesitate to pick up the blade and cut deep. Thus Ser Arthur Dayne found his end. It was a bloody one.

“Ned!” a female voice shattered the silence that had settled over them. ”Ned!”

“Lyanna!” he heard his father’s frantic voice. Quickly, he picked up the blade and stumbled towards the swirling steps, leading up to the tower.

The small man followed suit and Jon did the same, driven both by confusion and curiosity.

The first thing he noticed was the smell of blood.

 _They murdered my Aunt_ , Jon recalled and braced himself for the grizzly sight.

What he saw was a young woman, placed in a great wooden bed. Her face was long, like Arya’s and framed by sweaty brown hair. Her eyes were grey, though darker than his sister’s.

A thin smile curled on her lips as she spotted his father. She looked weak, on the brink of death, but no sword or other weapon had caused her predicament.

“Ned,” she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. ”Ned…”

“Sister,” his father replied and knelt down beside her bed. He smiled sadly as he took in her state.

Her belly was swollen and the sheets of the bed soiled with blood. One of the girls carried a squirming babe, its cries echoing through the tower.

_A child...she bore a child. Maybe it died or he wanted to forget about it._

“What happened to you?” his father asked, his body wrecked by pain and tears shining in his eyes. ”Did he…”

“No,” his Aunt whimpered, tears running down her cheeks. ”He did nothing, but love me…the Prince…Rhaegar…he wed me. Ned, I didn’t know about Brandon and father until it was too late…I wanted to leave, but they kept me here…for the babe…I didn’t mean to kill them…now they are all dead…”

“Shsh…calm yourself,” his father tried to appease her and brushed his hand over her head. ”You will need your strength…,” he continued, but his Aunt cut him off.

Her whole body trembled as she squeezed his hand, fresh blood pooling between her legs.

“Promise me, Ned!” she whispered and trembled again. ”Robert will kill him…you know he will. Promise me.”

His father stared at her with wet eyes and nodded his head.

“I promise,” he whispered into her ear. ”I promise.”

It was all that she needed to find peace. A small smile curled on her bluish lips as she fell back in her pillow and moved no more.

“Lya!” her father muttered and buried her face in her small neck.”Lya…no.”

Jon had never seen a woman in the birthing bed and now he wished he never did.

All of this made no sense. They all said she was raped and murdered.

Was this another lie?

“Ned,” Lord Reed whispered and touched his shoulder in a comforting gesture. ”The babe…”

His father lifted his head and received his Aunt’s child from the girl’s hands.

Jon’s heart skipped a beat when he took in the child’s appearance.

There was something very familiar about this babe. It had a long slightly-squashed head covered with a tuft of brown hair and small blue eyes.

The babe looked so much like Arya it made his heart ache.

“What will we do now?” Lord Reed asked his father in a grief-stricken voice. ”You heard her…Robert wouldn’t tolerate another competitor to the throne…Rhaegar’s son…,” he continued, but was cut off by Lord Stark.

“This babe can never be Princes Rhaegar’s son…Robert can never know about him. He will be mine…my bastard…a Snow.”

 _A Snow_ , Jon repeated and felt as if someone had dipped his entire body in a pool of ice.

A feeling of sickness overcame him as the world before him grew blurred and distant. He moved towards his father and tried to touch him, but he stumbled right through them into a dark abyss.

Pain filled his cheek as he found himself collapsed against the weirwood tree.

He shuddered and tried to pull himself back to his feet, but he was too weak. He felt dizzy and disoriented.

He was barely able to balance himself against the tree, before he started to vomit.

His body was wrecked by spasms until the last bit of this horrid paste and digested food had left his body.

“It’s a lie!” he shouted at the pale lord. It was the only possible explanation. Lord Stark wouldn’t have lied to him in such a vile manner. _Never._ ”Did you fabricate this vision to fool me? Why torture me thus?” he asked, tears burning in his eyes.

“Your pain is understandable,” the pale lord replied calmly. ”But this lie saved your life and brought you to me…where you belong”

His indifferent tone angered Jon only more and felt the urge to hurt the man before him.

“I don’t belong here! I only joined because I thought it was the right thing to do!” Jon shouted at the top of his lungs. ”He allowed me to come here…he didn’t even tell me that my mother died… It has to be a lie…Lord Stark would never do that to me…never,” he mumbled and leaned his head against the bark of the tree. His skin felt so hot as if he was boiling alive.

He closed his eyes, trying to banish away these painful feelings.

Once he had regained his composure he opened his eyes again and found Val seated beneath the tree.

“What happened?” Val asked, her voice uncharacteristically soft. She met him along the way and grabbed his arm, steadying him. ”What did he show you?”

“The truth…,” Jon replied weakly, though he knew it wouldn’t mean anything to her. ”The truth about my mother…”

…


	3. Val

**Val**

Jon Snow lay curled against the wall, his back turned to her. Val had yet to decide what to make of him. He was so different than the other crows she had met. None of his brothers would have taken her captive, let alone spoken to her like he did.

 _And he managed to kill one of the Others_ , she thought. She was still unable to believe it, but it was hard to deny the truth when it happened right in front of her eyes. Even Mance, who had managed to unite the clans under his banner, had yet to claim such a victory.

 _How_ , she wondered not for the first time and looked at the boy. _He did he do it?_

 _He told me truth about my mother_ , he had told her after the old man in tree had shown him some sort of vision. Later she found him sobbing, though tried to hide his pain behind a stoic face. Whatever the old man had shown him about his mother must have caused him great pain, because he hadn’t left his place for nearly a day. He even refused to eat.

_I need to get him out of his stupor or I will remain in this cave until the end of my days…and he might be our only chance to defeat the Others._

“Do you intend to stare at the wall until you are old and brittle, crow?” she asked him in a mocking tone.

“Jon,” he grumbled, but didn’t turn around. ”My name is Jon.”

“I know,” she replied, happy that she made him speak. ”But you are behaving too much like a crow as you have been kissing the wall all day long.”

“My father no…my Uncle used to tell me that it is a honor to join the Night’s Watch,” he replied, his voice laced with anger. ”What a bloody lie that was…now he is dead and gone and I can’t even tell him about it.”

Val didn’t know what to make of his words, but tried to play along. Anger was better than indifference.

“You don’t have to tell me. Crows are fools. They are fighting us instead of the real enemy. Mance was smart enough to leave them when he had the chance to do so.”

Her words, for whatever reason, managed to rouse the boy out of his stupor. In the matter of a heartbeat he had pulled himself back to his feet, his dark eyes wide.

“Mance…as in Mance Ryder….the King-Beyond-the-Wall?”

“Aye,” Val replied vaguely. ”Your brothers call him an oathbreaker, but for my people he is the King meant to lead us through the Long Night. He spent years trying to unite the clans…,” she continued, but stopped abruptly when she saw the look on Jon’ Snow’s face. _I said too much._

“Of course,” Jon Snow muttered, his face awash with understanding. ”That is why your people are moving south…you are fleeing.”

“The Free Folk does not flee!” she protested angrily, though it was true what he said. ”We would have fought if we stood a chance.”

“I didn’t mean to insult your people,” the Jon Snow replied in an apologetic tone and moved closer, his face lightened by the torch light. His face was long and sharp like chipped ice. His solemn expression made him look older than he was. ”The encounter with this Other was the most terrifying experience in my life. I don’t fault your people for trying to save their families.”

“But you don’t approve,” she replied when she noted his torn expression. ”And you think of my people as your enemy.”

“Your people don’t keep our laws. They pillage and rape…a group of Wildlings even attacked my little brother…a crippled boy.”

Val couldn’t help but to roll her eyes.

“And you think the oh so honorable crows don’t rape?” she asked and crossed her arms in front of her. ”I can name a dozen of spearwives that were raped and murdered by the hands of your brothers. Men are men…the colour of their cloak is of little consequence.”

“I would never rape a woman,” he defended his brothers. Then he started to fasten his cloak and sat down next to her. ”Not all crows are the same.”

“Don’t twist my words,” Val replied and shrugged her shoulders. ”I never said that all crows are the same. I am just trying to open your eyes to the reality of our world. There are good and bad men on both sides, but it won’t matter once the Others come for us. My people will just be the first ones to fall. Your brothers think the Wall is going to protect them forever, but why would the Others gather their forces if they know no way to bypass the Wall?”

“I know,” Jon Snow agreed and sighed heavily. ”But I swore a vow…I swore to protect the realms of men.”

“The realms of men my ass,” Val snapped, but softened her tone when she saw his distraught look. She knew he didn’t mean to insult her. ”Are my people not men? Nobody asked us when your people built this stupid Wall. Come with me if you want to fight the true enemy. I don’t trust the old man, but he was right about one thing. These crows are not worth your effort.”

Jon Snow fell silent and his dark eyes darted to the entrance of the cavernous room they had chosen as their sleeping place.

“Did your Master send you to get me?” Jon asked Twigs who poked his head through the narrow opening.

“His name is the Three-Eyed-Crow,” Twigs corrected Jon in its usual singsong voice. ”But he is not our Master. We are free to stay or to go. We choose to stay.”

“I see,” Jon replied, rose to his feet and made his way towards the entrance. ”What does the Three-Eyed-Crow want? Didn’t he show me what I needed to see?”

“There is more,” Twigs answered and led the way. Val walked behind them, the torch she had lightened their only source of light.

The sound of rushing water filled her ears as she stepped in the large cavernous room that harbored the mighty weirwood tree.

The old man hadn’t moved one inch from his place beneath the tree, his one ruby eye wide open. Beneath his rotten corpse sat a handful of children, who gathered the sap of the weirwood in small bowls. They did that almost everyday and even smeared the stinking paste on Jon Snow’s burned hand. To ward of the scent of the Others, Twigs had told them.

“Welcome back, Jon Snow,” the old man greeted, his voice reminiscent of rustling leaves. At times she even wondered if he was even alive. Maybe he was like the servants of the others, a dead man pretending to be alive. Or maybe he was more like the strange man that had led her here. _Blackhands_ , she had called him for his black hands.

“Will you show me more visions?” Jon Snow impatiently and started to flex his hand.

“No more visions,” the old man answered. ”It would be too dangerous. What I showed you was enough to reveal the truth to you.”

“So what?” Jon asked haughtily. ”I never wanted to be a Targaryen…I only ever wanted to be a Stark.”

“We can’t always get what you want, but if you try you might get what you need,” the old man countered and chuckled. It sounded like cracking ice. ”I feel your pain and your conflict, but we don’t have time for doubts. Your task awaits you.”

“My task?” Jon asked in confusion. ”What do you want me to do?”

“The Freefolk needs to pass the Wall,” the old man replied and Val couldn’t help but to gasp. Maybe the old man wasn’t as bad as she thought. “Or the Others will make them their instrument of terror.”

“I understand that,” The Jon Snow replied sullenly. ”But I don’t know how to do that.”

“There is a way to cross the Wall through the Nightfort,” the old man replied vaguely. ”My servant can lead you there. All you need to do is gather enough swords and make your way to Castle Black. It shouldn’t be hard to take given how few men are garrisoned there.”

“I don’t even know you!” Jon Snow protested stubbornly. ”Why should I trust your word?”

“Because I was once like you,” the old man replied. “In my youth I went by many names, but my mother called me Brynden…Brynden Rivers. I grew up like a bastard and I have served House Targaryen for many years, before I took the black. Later I became Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.”

Val didn’t know what to make of the man’s words, but the expression on Jon’s face could only be described as wonder.

“You are Bloodraven…I should have realized the truth by the stain on your neck,” Jon stuttered. ”But how is that even possible? You must be over a hundred years old.”

“I am older,” the old man relied in a mild tone. ”But age doesn’t matter. What matters is that you came here. I know that your heart is filled with doubt, but let me give you this piece of advice: There are men who can afford to be honorable and there are men who do what is necessary, no matter the consequences. I always belonged to the last group and I believe you do as well. ”

“You are asking of me to betray everything I was thought,” Jon protested through clenched teeth and flexed his hand in an anxious manner. ”I would be an oathbreaker.”

“Love is the death of duty,” the old man said, his one red eye fixed on Jon.”Maester Aemon gave you these words when you wanted to desert the Night’s Watch. Aemon is a good man and true, but he doesn’t know the strength of the true enemy. All people ever loved will die if you don’t stop the Others. The crows think the Wall will stand forever, but the spells woven in these ancient walls are growing weaker with every passing day.”

Jon looked as if someone had slapped him and stumbled backwards.

“You know…,” he stuttered. ”How?”

“I told you…I am a greenseer. I can see the past, the present and the even the future, though what lies ahead is never certain. It changes like the seasons…I am also your kin.”

“And do you want me to call you?” Jon asked sarcastically. ”Grand-Uncle? Grandfather? What kind of relation do we have?”

“You have a sharp tongue, my boy,” the old man remarked and laughed. ”But it won’t lessen the burden you carry. Tell me, what are your dreams like?”

Jon wrinkled his brows in confusion.

“I dreamed I was a wolf.”

“Good,” the old man said. ”Very good.”

“Tell me…Have you ever heard of skinchangers?”

 _Wolf dreams_ , Val repeated to herself. _Could it be?_

“Aye,” Jon confirmed hesitatingly. “Old Nan used to tell me stories about them. They can slip in the skin of animals, but they are only…” he continued, but fell silent when he saw the smile curling on the old man’s pale lips.

“Only tales,” the old man finished for Jon Snow. ”Like the greenseers, the Children of the Forest and the Others…It might be hard for you to accept the truth, but you are also a skinchanger or a warg…as the Freefolk would call them.”

“That can’t be true,” Jon Snow protested and laughed when she noticed his stunned expression. "How is that possible?"

“The old man speaks true. We have wargs among my people.... It is not as uncommon as you think.”

“Val of the Freefolk speaks true,” the old man agreed. It was the first time the old man acknowledged her presence. Now that his strange red eye was fixed on her she wished he never did. ”The children of the Free Folk have this gift. They will have to serve as your teacher once you leave this cave. I can only teach you the basics.”

“But Ghost is not even here…,” Jon protested, his face full of doubt.

“We will call for him,” the old man explained. ”This will be your first lesson. Now sit down and close your eyes.”

…


	4. Jon

**Jon**

He was prowling through the snow, the scent of his prey ever present in his nose. He hadn’t eaten for a whole day and the delicious smell of a snow rabbit had lured him here.

A brisk wind stirred the leaves of the trees, a rustling sound filling his ears.

Every slowly, he moved towards the pale-furred rabbit. His own fur was even paler and rendered him almost invisible in the snow-swept and landscape. Without further hesitation he snapped his head forward and buried his sharp teeth in the animal’s body. The rabbit squirmed, but death came quickly and the taste of warm blood filled his mouth. It was a pleasant taste, like a cup of mulled wine after a stormy day atop the Wall.

He savoured the taste, but his stomach was still empty when forced his eyes open. A gust of wind washed over the thick canopy of the oak tree they had chosen as their shelter for the night. The sky above his head was dark purple, streaks of light dusting the distant horizon.

Jon wanted to return to sleep, but his movement must have woken Val, who had slept with her back turned to his. Wrapped up in her thick grey pelt it was hard to make out her face. Only her braid of bond hair curled down her shoulders.

“Is it already dawn?” she asked in a sleepy voice. She had suggested sleeping close together to ward of the cold, but Jon had soon realized that this was more problematic than expected. It had proven impossible for him to find sleep when her ass was brushing his front. His only consolation was that she didn’t ask for his reasons.

“Aye,” he confirmed and pulled off the pelt he had wrapped himself in. Val followed his example, the hood of her cloak still lowered.

He hadn’t been able to get a clear look at her face in the sparse light of the cave. As it turned out she was a stunningly beautiful girl. Her sharp face, her grey-blue eyes and her honey-coloured hair would win her admirers in every court.

“What are you staring at?” she asked him and looked around. ”Where is your wolf?”

“Hunting,” he explained vaguely and heard his grumbling stomach. ”I managed to slip inside his head…I killed a rabbit…I mean Ghost killed a rabbit. I called for him and I hope he can find us along the way.”

“A rabbit,” Val repeated, a longing expression taking hold of her face. “I would kill for my sister’s rabbit stew.”

Jon was surprised by her words. This was the first time she mentioned her sister.

“You have a sister?” he asked curiously and fastened his blade.

She frowned, obviously unhappy that she allowed this piece of information to slip over her lips.

“Aye, I have a sister,” she confirmed quickly and pulled up her hood. Then she shouldered her belongings. The Children gifted them rations for two weeks, a hunting bow, a dozen arrows made of the pale bark of a weirwood tree and a handful of daggers. _Obsidian_ , the Three-Eyed-Crow had called this shiny black material that could apparently harm the enemy. In truth, it was not the first time he had encountered such daggers. Not long ago he found such daggers and a horn wrapped up in a black cloak, hidden beneath the Fist of the First Men. ”Dalla will like you.”

Jon gave her a doubtful look. ”She will? And what will the rest of your people think?”

She shrugged her shoulders and led the way. Fresh snow had fallen over the night and had covered the crusty ground with a thin blanket of snow. Every movement of her boots on the ground produced a cracking sound.

“You are a crow,” she explained. ”My people don’t like crows.”

“I am no longer a crow,” he assured her, his voice hoarse from the cold air. He had tried his best to suppress the feelings Lord Stark’s lie caused him, this task proved harder than expected. He let me go without giving the truth, he thought and flexed his hand. He wanted to get rid of me, he was convinced, but banished away these distracting thoughts, before they could take hold of his mind. ”I going to help your people as best as I can.”

“Your promises don’t matter to my people,” she replied bluntly and stumbled down the hill. Here the snow was frozen and the ground beneath his boots proved more than slippery. They had to move slowly. ”Only actions.”

Jon nodded his head in understanding. A sharp wind stirred bent the smaller trees as they passed. Jon was glad when they finally reached a downtrodden path leading through the dark forest head. This was more pleasant than to fight one’s way through the underwood.

“You are finally awake,” remarked a rattling voice. It was the man that had helped Val to bring him to the Three-Eyed-Crow. Blackhands, Val had dubbed him for his black hands. Jon had asked him numerous times if he was a brother of the Night’s Watch, but he always refused to answer. Yet his black garb left no doubt in Jon’s mind about the man’s previous association. He wore boiled leather and ring mail, a wool scarf wrapped around his thin face. Ghost hadn’t liked his presence and ran off to hunt.

“Good to see you, crow,” Val greeted the man. ”Have you seen the enemy?”

“The enemy returned to its hiding place,” the man answered in his usual rattling voice and led his elk down the hill. ”But I found your people. It is time for me to leave you. Travel east and you should be able to find them.”

“Leave us?” Val asked, her voice laced with distrust. ”Have you forgotten about your task? The old man told out to lead us through this secret passage that allows us to pass the Wall,” she added, but was cut off by their strange traveling companion.

“I will lead you,” the man with the rattling voice declared and pointed at the crows flying circles above their heads. ”Call out to the crows once you have gathered her warriors. I will come at once.”

“How can we be sure that you are not lying to us?” Val demanded to know. ”It is hard for me to trust a man with a black cloak.”

“The colour of a cloak is not important,” Blackhands countered. ”You need to look at the man beneath to see if he is your enemy or friend.”

Then he angled his head to look at Jon.

“Your wolf will join you soon,” he informed him, nudged the sides of his mount and left them.

“You heard him,” Val told him in an impatient tone. ”We should get moving. With luck we will be able to find my people before sunset.”

Jon was less enthusiastic, but didn’t know these lands as well as Val. _I have to trust her with this_ , he thought and followed after her.

They walked for hours, the landscape alternating between a barren plain of frozen ice and wind-swept trees. Even after hours they hadn’t met a single living being, safe for the flock of crows following after them like a loyal shadow.

Next they had to cross the Milkwater. Jon’s heart hammered wildly as he heard the cracking ice, but Val showed no fear. She moved as quickly as a shadow cat.

“We should rest,” Val told him after they had made it to the other side.”Mayhaps that way your wolf will be able to find us.”

Jon didn’t protest and even climbed one of the trees, to get a better look. He sat there for a while, taking in the landscape around them. The trees looked like a motely of yellow, red and green and the sky had taken a milky colour.

“Get down,” chided him. ”Or you will turn into one of these icicles.”

“I can sense Ghost,” he said and straightened himself. It felt as if someone was touching his mind, trying to read his thoughts. The Three-Eyed-Crow had trained him for nearly two weeks, but it felt still odd. ”He is close.”

“I believe you,” Val replied, only her grey-blue eyes visible. She wore her scarf wrapped all up to her nose as if she feared the cold might freeze it off. Not that Jon blamed her. It was midday, but the cold wind was biting as ever. ”We will wait for your wolf.”

“I am grateful,” he replied and gave her a frozen smile. With a plop he landed in the waist-high snow and made his way to Val. “I know how anxious you are to move on…,” he added, his voice drowned out by the howling wind.

“You are a warg,” she stated.” You are bound to him...he is part of you…like a hand or an ear. At least that is how Varamyr described to me once…”

“Varamyr?” he asked and rubbed his shoulders. More and more snowflakes whirled from the sky and kissed his cheeks. ”Is he a warg?”

Val nodded her head.

“He is a very powerful warg…he could teach you.”

“I will learn,” he replied determinedly. “From whomever you deem worthy.”

Val rolled her eyes.

“Are all boys in the south such poets as you?”

Jon couldn’t help but to frown.

“Pray tell me what was poetic about my choice of words?”

“From whomever you deem worthy,” she imitated his voice. ”The way you speak to me makes me feel like one of these soft ladies from the south.”

Jon chuckled. Soft was the last word he would have used to describe her.

“I doubt anyone would ever dare to call you a soft,” he teased. “Thorny and wild would a better description…,” he added and promptly received a slap on his shoulder.

“That sounds much better…,” Val trailed off, a smile playing on her lips as she pointed ahead. “It seems your wolf has returned.”

“Where?” Jon asked and searched the barren landscape for a hint of Ghost. “Where…”

Ghost’s pale fur made it usually hard to locate him, but the bloodstains littering his jaw and pawns helped.

“Ghost!” Jon exclaimed and whistled. ”Come here, boy!”

Within the blink of a moment he was at Jon’s side, his soft tongue brushing over Jon’s frozen thumbs.

“Where have you been hiding?” he asked his wolf and brushed his hand over his bloody fur. It was then that Jon noticed the wound on his shoulder. It wasn’t a deep wound, but it didn’t look like the work of a wild animal. _Perhaps a dagger_ , Jon guessed.

“My people are close,” Val added hoarsely, her voice filled with relief. “Your wolf must have attacked him.”

“They hurt him,” Jon replied, anger stirring inside him as he brushed his hand over Ghost’s wound.

“He must have attacked them,” Val defended her people and pointed ahead. “The wound looks fresh. We should move on.”

Jon swallowed down his anger and nodded his head.

“Aye, we should move on.”

They had walked for an hour when they saw the first tendrils of smoke rising into the sky.

“A cookfire,” Jon remarked. ”They could belong to the Night’s Watch.”

“Your rangers hardly ever venture this far,” Val countered and pulled on his arm. They stamped through the snow, their breathing growing laboured from the exhaustion. ”These are my people. I am sure.”

Jon didn’t protest and followed after her. They continued to walk until they reached a narrow valley, lined with massive pine trees.

“How far?” Jon asked in a whispery voice and turned around to look at Ghost, stalking through the snow, his ruby eyes fixed at the rising smoke. Jon’s hand rested on Longclaw as they continued to stagger through the underwood until they found a path, leading down to a frozen brook. They crossed and finally found the source of the smoke. Around a cookfire sat three people, armed with spears and axes.

Val smiled and lifted her hand.

“Stay here with Ghost. I will speak with them.”

“Go then,” he replied and knelt down next to Ghost to hold him back.

Ghost watched their exchange from the distance. He was unable to understand them, but he was able to see them. The leader of the group was a massive man, garbed in a thick brown pelt. His boisterous laughter could have cracked ice.

 _He knows her_ , Jon was sure. His two companions, a young boy with red hair and a tall warrior, seemed to share his happiness. The young boy hugged Val and the tall warrior lowered his head in greeting. Val didn’t seem to care and embraced him, his hoarse laughter drowned out by the wind.

More words were exchanged, before she came back and started to wave at him.

“Come, Jon!” she exclaimed. ”Nobody is going to cut off your head!”

“I heard you,” Jon replied and staggered down the slope, Ghost at his heels. ”I heard you.”

“Val says you are a crow come over,” he remarked and cracked a gap-toothed smile. He was not very tall, but had a broad chest, a massive belly and a beard as white as snow. ”And that you saved her.”

“I am no longer a crow,” he answered and tried to sound convincing. It was only half a lie, yet the guilt was still there in his heart, trying to overwhelm his anger.

“But you look like a crow,” the young red-haired boy, no girl, remarked. ”Your cloak is as black as the night.”

“Not for long,” Val replied and pointed at the bearded warrior and the red-haired girl. ”This fool is Tormund Giantsbane…and this is Ygritte.”

“Oi, don’t forget about me, Val!” the large warrior cut in.

“I thought that unnecessary, Sören!” Val threw back and cracked a smile. ”You are hard to miss.”

Then she turned around to look at Jon.

“The big man is Soren Shieldbreaker. He loves his axe more than the embrace of a woman.”

“That’s no longer true,” the girl called Ygritte blurted out, her blue eyes alight with mischief. ”I stole him.”

“Aye,” Soren Shieldbreaker confirmed and grinned like a fool. ”Though I nearly lost my cock.”

“Good to hear that we don’t have to call you Soren Cockless,” Val replied with a smile. “Who of you hurt his wolf? Was that your work, Soren?”

The man’s eyes widened at the sight of Ghost.

“Gods…it’s that massive beast again,” the man barked and his grey eyes flickered back to Jon. ”He really belongs to the boy?”

“His name is Ghost,” Jon confirmed. ”He is my direwolf…I am a warg.”

“A warg?” Tormund asked and stroked his beard. ”I didn’t know that the crows have wargs.”

“I am Jon Snow,” he replied and dipped his head in greeting.

“Val told us your name,” Tormund Giantsbane informed him and eyed him from head to toe. Jon read curiosity in his blue eyes. He didn’t seem hostile. “So you are a Stark bastard, eh?”

My father was a Targaryen Prince, Jon wanted to answer, but that would mean nothing to these people.

“My birth is of no importance,” he countered. ”I came to speak with Mance Ryder.”

…


	5. Val

**Val**

“You look like a starstruck maid!” Val teased when she noticed Jon’s awed look. His long face was tense and his dark eyes impossible wide as he stared at the giants seated atop mammoths. ”Never seen a giant, have you?”

Jon’s white wolf bared his teeth in a silent snarl, but the giants ignored him. More and more emerged, the thick snowfall making them appear like gigantic shadows wading through a milk soup. Val had never counted them, but Mance told her not long ago that there must be more than two hundreds of them.

“Where I come from they are considered tales for children,” Jon replied and slowed down the garron they shared. Ygritte was kind enough too given up her mount and chose to ride with Soren Shieldbreaker. Val didn’t care with whom she rode. She was just pleased to rest her feet, but Jon Snow showed the same discomfort he had shown while sleeping next to her.

 _He is a maid_ , Val was sure.  _And_ _not used to_ _presence of girls._

“Care to tell us about these tales, my boy?” Tormund asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

Jon snow wetted his frozen lips and answered.

“Old Nan, our nursemaid, used to tell us that giants are massive men who live in colossal castles. Your giants look completely different than I imagined.”

Val understood what he meant. Giants didn’t look much like humans. Their sloping chests might have passed for men, but their arms hung down too far and their lower torsos looked half as wide as their upper. Their legs were much shorter than their arms, but very thick, and they wore no boots. Their feet were broad, horny and black. Their heads were even stranger to behold. Neckless, their huge heads trust forward between their shoulder blades, their faces squashed and brutal. They didn’t even wear skins. Their shaggy pelt was their only garment.

“They are not common men,” she agreed at last and flashed Tormund a smile.

Tormund grinned and straightened himself. Then he shouted at the top of his lungs in the clanging tongue of the giants. One of the largest giants that was seated on an even larger mammoth promptly replied. Val recognized him by his grey pelt streaked with white. His name was Mag Mar Tun Doh Weg or commonly known as Mag the Mighty.

Jon’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

“Was that their King? What language did you use?”

Val stifled a laugh.

“Giant’s have no kings,” Ygritte explained in equal amusement. ”That’s Mag the Mighty.”

“And the language he used was the Old Tongue,” Val added. ”Though even I have a hard time understanding what he said. The giants speak a strange dialect.”

Tormund barked with laughter.

“I asked him if that was his father he was forking. They looked so much alike, except his father had a better smell.”

A frozen smile hushed over Jon Snow’s face. It was a beautiful sight. _He should smile more often_ , she thought then and was surprised by her straying thoughts.

“And what did he answer?” Jon asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

Tormund grinned.

“He asked me if that was my daughter riding there beside me, with her smooth pink cheeks.”

Jon Snow’s ghost-like smile was quickly replaced by one of his usual frowns. He even looked slightly embarrassed and clenched his teeth.

Tormund howled with laughter.

Mag the Mighty wasn’t wrong though. Jon Snow was prettier than most men of the Free Folk. He had healthy teeth and looked like someone who was properly fed throughout his childhood. He also smelled better. Most men of the Free Folk preferred to grow old without ever taking a proper bath. Jarl had been more pleasant. He at least washed himself once a moon.

“Don’t frown like that boy,” Tormund countered and nudged his feet in the sides of his horse. ”Mag probably never saw a man without a beard. Let’s move a bit faster.”

“Move the horse!” she reminded Jon, who was still staring at Mag the Mighty.”Tormund’s already gone.”

Jon Snow didn’t answer and kicked his feet in the garron’s side. They wheeled around and followed after Tormund, Soren and Ygritte. Ghost followed suit, leaving paw prints in the fresh-fallen snow.

Along the way Tormund regaled them with one of his wild tales.

“Listen up, boys and girls! It was winter and I was half a boy. I was stupid like all boys are at that age. I went too far and my horse died and then a terrible storm caught me…A true storm, no little dustling like this. Har! I knew I would freeze before it broke and so I found me a sleeping giant, cut open her belly and crawled up right inside her. Kept me warm enough, she did, but the stink nearly did me in. Yet the worst happened when she woke. She thought spring came and took me for her babe. She suckled me for three whole moons before I could get away. Har! At times I still miss the taste of giant’s milk. That’s also how I got my name…Tormund Giantsbane.”

Val was surprise that Jon seemed not the least bit disgusted by his tale. Dalla forbade Tormund to share his tales when they were breaking their fast.

“If she nursed you, you couldn’t have killed her,” Jon countered.

Tormund grinned.

“Aye, I never did,” he whispered. ”But don’t you go spreading that about. Tormund Giantsbane has a better ring to it than Tormund Giantsbabe and that’s the honest truth about it.”

“Pff! Honest truth!” Val snorted. ”We all know that you are a bloody liar!”

“I will pretend that I didn’t hear that, girl! Har!” Tormund grumbled and galloped away. ”Let’s move on if you don’t want to hear my tales.”

“I would love to hear how you got the name Horn-Blower,” Jon added, smiling again.

“You don’t want to!” she warned in a whispery voice. ”I know what I am talking about. This was the most pleasant of his tales.”

“As you say,” Jon Snow replied and urged their horse onwards. He looked disappointed.

Val was confused. Did he really like Tormund’s vile tales?”

She sighed deeply and graced him with an encouraging smile.

“Knowing Mance he is going to invite Tormund to stay. Once he is drunk he is going to regale you with his tales whether you want it or not.”

“First I need to survive Mance’s judgment,” he replied in a low voice.

“Mance’s not going to kill you,” she assured him and averted her gaze. She could feel his warm breath on her cheek and his body pressed against hers.

“How can you be so sure?” he asked her straight to the point.

“You will see,” she replied hesitatingly and averted her gaze to study the falling snowflakes. They were thick and heavy.  _A storm is coming_ , she knew and shuddered. ”You will see.”

It was dawn when they mad camp. Within a matter of hours thousands of cookfires lightened the world around them. They had no need for the stars and the moon. All they needed were their fires to protect them against the coming evil. _Soon it won’t be enough_ , Val thought and shuddered when she recalled the creature that had attacked her barely a moon ago. It was her first encounter with the enemy and it was a more than terrifying experience.

“Finally home,” she muttered to herself and watched as Ghost continued to follow after another group of riders. Jon whistled and called out to him several times, before the wolf finally returned to his side.

“Don’t fret,” she told the wolf. ”Dalla will feed you until you are as fat as mammoth. Then you will be wagging your tail like a madman.”.”

Jon chuckled.

“I don’t think he understands you.”

“That wolf of yours is smarter than you can know,” Val replied and was about to add something when a horde of dogs came storming towards them. Their chorus of snarls and loud barks betrayed the presence of Rattleshirt, yet he was nowhere to be seen. Val was glad for it. He only needed to see the black cloak slung around Jon’s shoulder and would make a big fuss about it.

“Ghost, come here!” Jon called out to his wolf, but he didn’t listen. He growled at the dogs and sent them into a frenzy. ”Ghost!”

Finally, the wolf obeyed and let the dogs alone. Slowly, Ghost trotted back to Jon’s horse, his red eyes still fixed at the fleeing enemy.

Not long after this incident Mance’s outriders came to greet them. Val knew all of them by name and face. The leader was the Weeper. He was a fleshy blond-haired man with water eyes and carried a curved scythe. He had slashed the heads of hundreds crows with this weapon and they rightfully feared him for it. Only Alfyn Crowkiller had killed more men in his prime.

Jon seemed to recognize who he was. His body tensed immediately and he started to flex his hand.

“Har! Look who I found!” Tormund exclaimed cheerfully and pointed at Val.”I told you the girl ain’t dead!”

“Welcome back, Val,” the Weeper greeted Val and shifted his attention to Jon.

The Weeper eyed Jon carefully before he started to wrinkle his nose in disgust. ”I smell a crow. How come he is in your company?”

“He is a crow come over,” she replied quickly. ”I will tell you all about once I have spoken to Mance.”

The Weeper nodded his head and glanced at the wolf.

“And the wolf belongs to the boy?”

“Aye, he is a warg,” Val explained. She was glad that Jon headed her advice and kept his mouth shut. ”The wolf is his.”

The Weeper took another quick glance at Jon.

“The boy has a wolfish look to him,” he remarked and grinned. ”Is he your new pet? Did you grow tired of Jarl?”

“Jarl is dead,” she replied coldly and left out the fact that Jarl was killed by Jon Snow. ”Let us pass. I am tired and I wish to see my sister.”

“Aye, as you wish,” the Weeper agreed and slung his scythe over his shoulder. Then he led his horse aside to free the path. ”I can only imagine. Dalla nearly threatened to kill the Lord of Bones when he implied that you might be dead.”

“Good,” Val added and gave Jon a pat on the shoulder. They passed carts, sleds and tents. Some of her people stopped their work when they saw her pass, their eyes following after them like shadows. They knew her and probably wondered why she was riding with a crow.

_Mance was also a crow. They will accept him soon enough once he drops that black cloak of his._

Soon they dismounted and left the others behind them. Only Val, Jon and Ghost followed after Tormund as he led them through the bustling camp.

Jon eyed everything critically, but remained silent. Only when Ghost tried to storm off did he call him back.

Mance’s tent was impossible to miss. It was thrice the size of a normal tent and even from a far she heard the familiar sound of a lute.

“Val,” one the guards greeted. ”Good to have you back.”

She smiled at him and recognized the mistrustful look the other guardsman was giving Jon Snow and his wolf.

“It would be better if the wolf stays outside,” she told Jon. ”At least for the time being.”

“Very well,” he agreed and turned back to Ghost. ”Stay put.”

Instantly, the direwolf sat down and moved no more.

“Good wolf,” Val replied amusedly and pushed aside the bear furs that covered the entrance of the tent. Jon followed, no word leaving his lips.

 _He knows that something is amiss_ , she knew and tried to ignore his piercing gaze.  _Well, it is time to reveal the truth._

Hot and smoky air met her face as she entered the tent. Four baskets of burning peat filled the air with a warm glimmer that made her feel like home. As expected, she found Dalla standing over a brazier, occupied with the preparation of the next meal.

“Har! Dalla!” Tormund announced their presence. ”I found your sister!”

Dalla nearly dropped the bowl of meat and started to tremble. Her face was pale like ash as she stumbled over the hides and furs covering the floor, towards Val. Within the blink of a moment she found herself in a tight embrace, which proved more difficult than expected, because Dalla looked like she might pop out her babe any moment.

“Do you see, Mance!” she exclaimed and angled her head to look at her good-brother, who sat cross-legged on the floor, his lute in hand. “The Lord of Bones was wrong!”

“I can see her,” Mance replied and lifted his head to regard first Tormund and then Jon Snow. He gave Val a wry smile and brushed his grey hair out of his face. ”It seems you kept your promise, Tormund. Well, I shouldn’t have doubted you. And who is the crow? Your prisoner?”

“He is no prisoner,” Val explained quickly and freed herself from Dalla’s tight grip. She placed a kiss on her cheek and moved forward to stand before Mance. ”He is a crow come over. He saved me.”

Mance eyed the boy more closely, a queer smile crossing over his lips.

“You are Eddard Stark’s bastard, the Snow of Winterfell.”

Jon’s mouth opened and closed, only a faint stutter leaving it.

“How…how…”

“I will tell you later,” Mance explained and lifted his lute. ”How do you like my song?”

“The Dornishman’s wife,” Jon Snow replied solemnly. ”Your play is passable.”

“Passable,” Mance snorted and smiled at Dalla. ”Did you hear that, Dalla? My play is only passable.”

“I agree with him, you are too convinced about your abilities, love,” her sister replied jestingly and angled her head to take in Jon’s appearance.

“Val said you saved her,” she repeated. ”Where you attacked? Where is Jarl? What happened to the others?”

“Dead,” Val replied plainly, her gaze fixed on Mance. ”A bunch of crows killed him. This one took me prisoner instead of raping me. Then the  _they_  came for us…he killed one of the Others.”

Mance’s head snapped around to look at Jon. ”How?”

“My sword,” Jon explained and carefully unsheathed his blade. The smoky black surface of the blade changed to a bloody glimmer when the light of the braziers fell upon it.”Valyrian steel can harm them. Dragonglass as well,” he added, slipped his blade back into his scabbard and pulled out one of the daggers the Children had gifted them upon their departure from the cave.

“It is true,” Val added her voice. “The Other burst into thousands of small shards as if it was made of brittle ice.”

“That blade,” Mance muttered, a grim expression taking hold of his long face. ”Why did Lord Commander Mormont gift you his Valyrian blade?”

“He gave it to me, because I saved him from a wight.”

Mance stared at Jon in disbelief. Then he started to laugh.

“Gods…this is good,” Mance muttered and gave Jon a mocking smile. ”I am not sure if I should be saddened by your betrayal or happy. The Old Bear would cut off my head if he ever got his hands on me. Well, I got to kill the Halfhand. That’s a comfort.”

Jon Snow went pale as ash.

“The Halfhand is dead…”

“Aye,” Mance confirmed and pointed at the healed cut on his cheek. ”The Lord of Bones caught him and brought him here alive as I asked of him. Then I fought him and killed him. He was my brother once and now his bones are in my keepsake. Does that make you angry, my boy?”

Val couldn’t help but to notice the apparent on Jon’s face.

“The Halfhand was a fearsome man,” Jon Snow replied through clenched teeth. “I am surprised you were able to defeat him.”

Mance shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t look much like a warrior to you, do I?”

“You are the King-beyond-the-Wall. You must be fearsome if you managed to unite the Free folk.”

“I care not for your empty flattery,” Mance interrupted him and pointed at the floor, covered in thick pelts and skins. "Please take a seat and let us speak plainly.”

“That is why I am here,” Jon replied and took a seat. ”To speak plainly…”

Mance wrinkled his brows and glanced over to Val, who had taken a seat next to Jon. Tormund remained standing, sniffing at the steaming pots Dalla was watching over.

“What are you cooking?” he asked her and received a slap on the shoulder.

“Sit down, Tormund,” she chided him and pulled the pot from the fire. Then she filled three bowls and handed one two Tormund. ”Sit down and none of your vile tales at my table.”

“You ought to listen to her, old friend,” Mance added and shifted his attention back to Jon and Val.

“Now tell me,” Mance prodded. ”Where did you come from?”

“Winterfell,” Jon replied. “By the way of Castle Black.”

“I already knew that. I saw you there at Winterfell.”

Dalla interrupted their talk and handed Val and Jon a bowl of steaming broth.

“Eat,” Mance added with a smile. ”You look hungry.”

“I first like to hear how you saw me in Winterfell,” Jon replied and left his bowl untouched. ”Would you tell me, your Grace?”

Mance laughed.

“Your Grace is not a style one often hears among my people. I am Mance to most, the Mance to some. Please refrain from using it. It will only make people laugh…like Tormund over there,” he added and pointed at the old fool, who had spilled half his food on the fur.

“As you wish…your Grace,” he muttered, his face deeply flushed.

“Much better,” Mance replied and ignored Tormund’s teasing. ”Of course I will tell you, my boy.”

“In truth we have met two times. Once I came to Winterfell in company of Lord Commander Qorgyle. I was walking around the yard when I came about your brother Robb. It had snowed and you two had built a great snow mountain above the gate and were waiting for someone to pass underneath.”

Surprisingly, Jon Snow started this laugh, his eyes alight with amusement.  _This was a happy memory_.

“I remember,” Jon confirmed. ”I remember you…you promised not to tell on us.”

Mance smiled wryly and grabbed for his drinking horn.

“And I kept my vow.”

“And the second time?” Jon asked and brought the bowl to his lips to taste the broth.

“When King Robert came to Winterfell to make your father his Hand.”

Jon nearly choked. He swallowed quickly and gave Mance a disbelieving look.

“How? The Wall…”

“The Wall can stop an army, but not a man alone. I took a lute and a bag of silver, scaled the ice near Long Barrow, walked a few leagues south of the New Gift and bought a horse. A day south of Winterfell I fell in with the King’s company. Free riders and hedge knights followed after him and I disappeared among them. I know every bawdy song there is. So there I was…I sat in the back of your father’s hall and listened to Orland of Oldtown sing of dead kings beneath the sea…It was a pleasant night.”

“Not for me,” Jon replied through clenched teeth. ”I was angry with my Uncle Benjen, because he refused to take me to the Night’s Watch. Only a few days later my dream came true and my Lord Father asked me to join the Night’s Watch. I agreed of course, because I thought it was the only  _honorable_  place for a _bastard_ to go to. What a  _bloody_  lie that was. I was a fool to believe him.”

Val didn’t know how it happened, but his grey eyes had turned completely black. There was anger burning in those eyes, like a kindling flame ready to devour a man alive.

Mance dropped his drinking horn and gave Jon a curious look.

“You were a fool,” Mance agreed hesitatingly. ”And is that the reason you turned your cloak?”

Jon Snow shook his head. “There are two reasons. Are you prepared to listen?”

Mance nodded his head in confirmation.

“I am always prepared to hear a good tale.”

“The man you call my father wasn’t truly my father. I have Stark blood running through my veins, but not through my father, but through my mother.”

“Your mother…,” Mance repeated and took a sip from his horn, his brows furrowed in concentration. ”How is that possible? The only female Stark…,” he continued, but stopped abruptly. His dark eye widened as he started back at Jon Snow. ”No, it can’t be…Was she perhaps the girl that was carried off by the Dragon Prince?”

“She wasn’t carried off,” Jon muttered. ”She ran away with the Dragon Prince and died birthing me. I suppose Lord Stark, my Uncle, tried to protect me. He still allowed me to join the Night’s Watch. He made me believe that I was the only stain on his white vest. He allowed me to suffer all those years, making me believe that my mother didn’t love me. That is the first reason for turning my cloak. It is my way to take revenge. Yet that is not the only reason…,” he trailed off. He looked incredibly pale, as I all blood had been drained out of his body.

Val handed him her drinking horn.

“Drink, it will help.”

He nodded his head and drank deeply, before he shifted his attention back to Mance.

“I came here because I saw the enemy and what it will do to your people. That is why I want to help your people cross the Wall…I intend to give you Castle Black.”

Mance smiled had long disappeared. Even Tormund had stopped eating and was now utterly silent.

“I can do that on my own. I don’t need…,” Mance began, but Jon Snow cut him off.

“I suppose you want to send your people climbing, but I know an easier way.”

“How?” Mance asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“There is a secret passage that leads through the Nightfort. I know a man who can lead us through.”

“Who is this man? A friend of yours? Why should I trust him?”

“I met him too,” Val added her voice and picked the horn from Jon’s hands. ”He is trustworthy. A few hundred men would be enough…,” she continued, but Mance silenced her with a wave of his hand.

“Suppose I agree to this plan of yours,” Mance replied all cordiality gone from his bearing. ”What will happen after we take the Wall? I assume there is a price to be paid?”

Jon laughed and shrugged his shoulders.

“My brother will disapprove of my actions, but he will listen if I tell him about the Others. I am sure of it,” he explained. “And yes, there is a price to be paid. You must keep to the Wall and not move further south without my brother’s permission.”

Mance shook his head.

“I have a host of hundred thousand…,” he began, but Jon cut him off.

“Half of them are babes, women and children. I saw your camp. There is no protection…no stakes, no traps…no nothing. Your people cannot face off against a disciplined army of Northmen. Even Mormont would cut through your host like butter if he was here...,” Jon explained, but Mance seemed to disagree with assessment, his face flushed with anger.

“Or I could cut off your head and be done with it!” Mance replied in a threatening tone. Val wanted to interrupt, but Dalla’s shaking head silenced her. ”Do you think I am afraid to fight your people?”

“No,” Jon Snow replied and met Mance’s gaze. ”But Val told me that your people trust you to lead them through the Long Night. Fight my brother’s men and your people will only find death. You need to adapt if you want to survive and part of this is accepting compromises. Help me man the Wall and you may be able to earn the trust of the Northmen. It won’t be easy, but it is possible.”

Then he paused and exhaled deeply, before continuing to speak.

“I told you my price and I don’t expect an immediate answer. All I ask is that you think about my offer.”

Mance exchanged a silent look with Tormund. Then he looked over to Val who used the moment to speak.

“I will go with him and make sure that he keeps his word. I will give you Castle Black.”

“Be careful what you promise, lass,” Mance warned and sighed deeply. Then he shifted his attention back to Jon and dropped his head in acceptance. ”I will think about your offer. You will also require a new cloak. Nobody here likes the colour black.”

“I understand,” Jon replied and lowered his head in acceptance.

…


	6. Jon

**Jon**

Jon felt the cold biting on his skin, but neither Val nor his other companions seemed to share his discomfort. They continued to stamp through the snow, the movement of their boots echoing in his ears.

There was Ygritte, garbed in brown pelt and her bow slung over her shoulder. Soren was not far, his spear in hand as he followed after his red-haired spearwife. _She stole me_ , Soren had told Val with pride.

It was still hard for Jon to make sense of these strange customs. Where he came from taking a woman against her will was called rape, but for the Free Folk it was as normal as snow. Truly, it was no wonder that the people of the North called them barbarians. Still, there was one thing he appreciated about the Free Folk. Nobody here gave a flying fuck about the fact that he was called Snow. Some frowned when it was mentioned, but most shrugged their shoulders and were usually more interested in the fact that he was a crow come over.

“Stop slowing us down, Jon!” Ygritte called out to him and stopped in her tracks. “Orell is giving you piercing looks.”

Orell was a skinchanger and an unpleasant fellow if there ever was one. He had been training Jon over the last two weeks, though Jon had yet to show progress or see any sense in his methods. Once Orell had asked him to drink a whole cup of rabbit blood, insisting it would make it easier for him to slip in the skin of an animal. Jon had indeed slipped into Ghost’s mind that night, but only because he had been vomiting all day and Dalla had made him a strong tea that made him sleep like a babe.

 _He was taking me for a fool_ , Jon thought and lifted his head to the milky sky, where he noticed Orell’s eagle flying its customary circles.

Ghost was not far, his ruby eyes the only discernable feature in the white landscape. The snow here was much softer than near the Milkwater. It looked as if a soft cloth had been spread over the trees and hills.

They had been walking all morning and even managed to catch a handful of rabbits, but they had yet to find a trace of the animal they were actually searching for…a bloody snow bear.

“I heard you,” Jon replied at last, his voice nearly drowned out by the howling wind. Thus he tapped his spear in the ground and sped up his movement.

Orell frowned when he laid eyes on Jon. _He hates me._

“Were you able to slip into your wolf’s mind last night?” he asked Jon as they trespassed down a narrow path leading to the forest below.

“Aye,” Jon confirmed and looked at Val. ”I was able to slip into Ghost’s mind. I think he is beginning to listen to me...Today I found him waiting for me.”

“Not bad,” Orell replied grudgingly. “But I was able to do such simple tricks when I was a mere boy…you still have a lot to learn. Today we will try something different.”

“I see,” Jon said and noticed that Val’s grey-blue eyes were resting on him. ”Is that the reason we are hunting this snow bear?”

“Partly,” Val replied and pulled down her shawl to reveal an amused smile. ”But do not overestimate your importance. We also came here to find a gift for my sister’s babe. Normally, it is the grandfather’s task to find an appropriate gift, but since Dalla and I lost our father many years ago this important task falls to me.”

Jon nodded his head in understanding.

“But why does it have to be a snow bear?” Jon asked and held out his hand in front of him to ward of the twigs snapping after him as they moved through the thick underwood. Judging by the pale light falling through the tree crowns it had to be close to midday. “I have never fought a snow bear, but a brown bear. I was eight and nearly pissed myself in fear.”

“I was only six when I killed my first bear,” Soren added proudly. “It was a massive beast that gutted my Uncle like a sheep for slaughter. My father wore the bear’s pelt until his dying day as a memory of his brother. Dalla’s babe will honor such a gift until it is as old and grey as Mother Mole.”

Jon couldn’t help but to be impressed, but he remained skeptical. He would rather make plans for the future than to go hunting.

“I see,” Jon said and kept his true thoughts to himself. ”That’s impressive.”

“There!” Val exclaimed, her voice laced with happiness as she pointed at the trails visible in the snow. They clearly belonged to the paws of a bear, but judging by the depth of the trials it must be a massive beast, much bigger than Jon was used to. “It seems you are right, Orell. The beast is close.”

“The cave is not far,” Orell added and smiled smugly.

“Finally,” Ygritte added with a relieved smile and pulled her bow from her shoulder. “My toes are beginning to freeze. Let’s kill the bear and go home.”

Soren pounded his chest and grinned like a young boy.

“Aye, let’s kill the beast!”

“How will we go about it?” Jon asked Val. “I doubt the bear is going to come out of his cave on his own accord.”

Val grinned and jerked her head at Orell.

“That will be your task. Orell will explain everything to you.”

“I am not going inside that cave!” Jon protested vehemently. ”That would be suicide.”

“Calm your tits, crow!” Orell told him and tapped his spear in the snow. Then he handed Jon his waterskin. “You are not going near the cave, but your wolf…His presence should help to lure the bear out. This should help.”

Jon eyed the bearskin skeptically. “Do you want me to drink that? Is it more rabbit blood?”

Orell snickered and grinned, showing his yellow teeth.

“I fooled you, didn’t I, crow?”

“I am well,” Jon countered stubbornly and met his gaze. ”Now tell me…Do I have to drink it or not?”

Orell nodded his head in confirmation.

“It will help you to slip into your wolf’s mind. It will be unpleasant at first, but next time you might not need it anymore.”

Jon remained skeptical, but he was no coward.

“Aye, let’s do this,” Jon agreed hesitatingly and opened the waterskin. He sniffed at the liquid, a sour smell filling his nostrils. “Let’s kill a bear.”

He winced as the disgusting brew slipped down his throat. He gagged and it took all his effort to swallow it. Once he had accomplished this task a strange dizziness took hold of his body. He started to sway, barely able to make one step after the other. He even had to balance himself against the tree and knelt down in the snow to ground himself.

“Was the brew too strong for you, crow?” Orell asked mockingly.

Jon swallowed down his pride and closed his eyes. He slowed down his breath as the Three-Eyed-Crow had taught him and waited until he was able to sense Ghost’s mind. It was this specific tingling feeling he was searching for in this world of ice and snow.

That Ghost was close helped. The tingling feeling was subtle at first, but then he felt it clearly. Jon reached out for it as if to embrace it. Within the blink of a moment he found himself in Ghost’s skin. It was a strange feeling, as if he pulled on a flea-infested cloak.

Yet his discomfort was soon forgotten when the scent of another animal filled his nose. The smell was heady and dangerous. Jon didn’t know why, but he was sure that this was the scent of the bear.

The snow felt soft beneath his paws as he moved through the underwood, towards the cave.

Behind him he sensed the presence of his companions and before him he noticed the movement of a large shadow, leaving the safety of the cave, looming ahead.

Ghost growled and bared his teeth, but Jon felt the touch of fear. He had seen bears and even hunted them, but this beast was different than the bears in the North. This beast was nearly as big as Ghost, its sharp teeth as long as daggers. Its eyes were even more fearsome, yellow like the eyes of a wildcat.

Ever slowly, the beast moved out of the cave, a loud snarling sound leaving its mouth. Its paws were firmly rooted in the thick snow as if it waited for a sudden movement.

 _We need to move_ , he whispered to Ghost. Jon felt his wolf’s anger, his urge to stay and fight, but that could mean their certain death. _We are only supposed to lure the beast out of the cave._

Yet Ghost didn’t move.

_Move! Now!_

Again Ghost ignored him and even bared his teeth.

He had no other choice. It was always painful when he tried to impose his will on his wolf, but it was the only way. Finally, Ghost backed away, his eyes still fixed at the massive bear.

Behind him he heard the sound of footsteps, belonging to his companions. Each of his companions smelled differently. Ygritte smelled of the rabbits she had skinned earlier. Soren smelled of the disgusting ale he liked to consume. Orell smelled of eagle shit and Val smelled of pine trees.

“Ghost! Out of the way!” he heard Val’s voice ringing in his ears.

Ghost backed away while the bear remained frozen to the ground, its yellow eyes following after him.

“Now!” Val shouted again and Ghost finally ran, the beast bolting after him. “Run!”

Fear clutched his heart as he heard the creature’s roar. He didn’t look back and bolted towards the forest, where Val and the rest of his companions were waiting for the bear.

Soon he heard the snapping of arrows and when he had turned around he noticed that one of them had hit the massive bear, fresh blood streaking its fur. And yet the beast didn’t stop moving. Another arrow snapped over Ghost, bouncing off the creature’s head as it moved straight towards his companions. Soren proved quick and buried his spear deep in the bear’s body, before it was able to reach Ygritte. Within a heartbeat the bear’s tusks had drawn blood from his body and he was close to being overwhelmed by its massive weight.

Jon didn’t hesitate and jumped the bear’s back. He tried to bury his teeth in the animal’s neck, but he was only able to reach its shoulder.

“Move!” he heard Val’s hoarse voice as she drove her spear into the bear’s side. The animal growled in pain, but continued to move. “Move out of the way!”

Finally, Soren did as he was asked. He let go of his spear and rolled to the side, streaking the snow with his lifeblood.

Another arrow snapped over the bear’s head, nearly embedding itself in Jon’s back, Ghost’s teeth still buried deep in the beast’s shoulder.

Making use of the moment he let go and curved the bear, aiming for the neck.

This time he managed to do it. Ghost’s sharp teeth buried itself deep in the bear’s neck. The beast reared, trying to throw him off, but he buried his teeth only deeper. His jaw ached, but he had no intention to let go. Again he pulled, his heart hammering violently in his chest. Suddenly, he stumbled back in the snow, his mouth filled with blood and skin.

“It is done,” Val remarked in a strained voice and touched his head. “Well, done Ghost…Or should I say Jon?”

He lifted Ghost’s head and brushed it against her hand. He liked her touch, but he had other things to think about.

_I need to leave Ghost’s mind. I shouldn’t linger too long._

Thus he sighed deeply and allowed his mind to slip away.

When he woke he found himself sprawled on his back, fresh snowflakes kissing his cheeks.

He must have collapsed against the tree. The sky above him was grey and distant.

Slowly, he pulled himself back to his feet and followed the footsteps his companions had left in the snow.

“Oi, Jon has returned to us!” Soren exclaimed and held his shawl to his bleeding wound. He sat on a fallen tree trunk while Ygritte and Val were skinning the bear. Orell watched them, his piercing eyes meeting Jon’s along the way.

Ghost was quickly as his side, his mouth still bloody from his fight with the bear.

“Not bad for a green boy,” Orell grumbled in displeasure. ”But you have still much to learn.”

Jon didn’t speak out against him and grouched down next to Soren, who handed him his bearskin. Tormund’s self-made ale tasted worse than the brew Orell had given him. After a quick gulp he handed the bearskin back to Soren and washed out his mouth with snow.

Val and Ygritte worked quickly, their daggers cutting through the bear’s skin like butter. After several hours of work they had several bear pelts of the finest sort and meat rations for at least a dozen of men.

“With this amount of pelt you could swaddle hundreds of babes,” he japed when Val placed a roll of pelt on one of the sleds Jon and Soren had retrieved earlier.

Val cracked a smile.

“The pelt doesn’t belong to me alone. Tormund’s daughter is also expecting a little one. He went searching for me…I owe him. Besides, you need a cloak…and you also earned yourself a proper name today.”

Jon wrinkled his brows in confusion.

“I earned myself a proper name?”

“Aye,” Val confirmed and smiled warmly. “Jon Bearkiller sounds much better than Jon Snow, don’t you agree?”

Jon was completely taken back by her answer. He had carried his name for such a long time that he could have never imagined being called differently. As a boy he wanted to carry the name Stark, but that was another lie. His name was Targaryen, but this name meant nothing to Val or her people.

“Aye, Jon Bearkiller sounds much better,” he agreed and helped her with the pelt. It was past midday when they were done and set out to find the others. Hours passed, the sky changing to a rich purple color that reminded Jon of a fresh bruise.

The first stars were visible and his stomach was as empty as Theon Greyjoy’s head when they finally returned.

“Dalla!” Val greeted her sister, with a peck on the cheek and unloaded her gift. “I brought you the promised pelt.”

“I thank you,” Dalla replied and touched the pelt. “But that wasn’t necessary.”

“Nonsense,” Val insisted and jerked her head at Jon, who had slipped off his gloves and was now warming himself at the fire. Mance was also there, watching him from his usual place. “Besides, Orell thought it a good training for Jon. It was he who killed the bear.”

“Not bad,” Mance remarked. “It seems you are a quick learner, Jon Snow.”

“Not Jon Snow,” Val corrected him and started to pull of her cloak. “Jon Bearkiller.”

Dalla chuckled and started to pour the cooked broth into the bowls she had placed nearby the hearth. It smelled heavenly and Jon felt his mouth water, but he waited patiently until Dalla had handed him the bowl.

“Jon Bearkiller,” Dalla repeated and smiled. “It fits your grim nature.”

Jon frowned and heard Val’s rolling laughter. She had spread her pelted cloak on the ground and sat only a few feet away from the brazier. Her pale face was flushed, her blond hair tousled and half free-from her usual braids. She truly was a beautiful girl, though he should have rather called her woman, given that she was at least a handful of years older than him.

“I am not grim,” he defended himself and sipped the broth. It filled him with warmth and less honorable thoughts when he heard Val’s laughter. “I am simply not prone to smiling.”

“Aye,” Val agreed. “And that is the reason I gave you new name. Now you can leave the grim Jon Snow behind you and become the mighty Bearkiller.”

Jon liked the sound of that, though he didn’t admit it openly. Instead he graced her with a smile and shifted his attention back to the King-Beyond-the-Wall.

“Have you thought about my offer,” he went straight to the point, but was not surprised when he received nothing more than an enigmatic smile.

“Patience, Jon Snow,” Mance told him. “I will tell you once I am ready.”

 _There is no time_ , Jon wanted to protest, but he knew it would be no use. Val’s people were even more stubborn than his own. It was like running against an ice wall hoping that it might crack.

 _Very well_ , he thought and savored the taste of the broth. Dalla was a good cook and he was beginning to like her as well. She was a soft-hearted person like his sister Sansa, always trying to see the beautiful things in life, though far less dreamy. _She also doesn’t call me her half-brother_ , he thought and wondered if she and Arya were still prisoners in King’s Landing. Jon had a hard time imagining them scooped up together. They weren’t even able to share a room when they were little girls without trying to kill each other.

The fires hard burned low when the flap of the tent opened and a very old woman stepped inside. She was as small as a doll, her snow white hair hidden beneath her pelted head covering and her piercing yellow eyes sweeping through the room. They met Jon’s in passing, but eventually came to rest on Dalla.

“I came to see you, child,” the old crone explained and gave Dalla a toothless smile as she touched her swollen belly. “How is the babe?”

“Welcome, Mother Mole,” Mance added with a quick smile and watched as the old crone inspected Dalla like a horse. She looked at her eyes, her ears, her nose, her skin and her teeth. At last she touched every inch of her belly. Strangely, Jon was reminded of Maester Luwin, though he doubted the old man would have liked being compared to this old crone. When she was done with her inspection she started to squash smelly herbs with a pestle and filled them into a cup, before handing it to Dalla.

“Drink this two times a day,” the old woman explained. “It will make the boy strong.”

“Boy,” Dalla repeated and beamed. “How can you be sure?”

“I read the signs,” Mother Mole explained and angled her head to look at Jon. “I also noticed an intruder. I dreamed of your coming, my boy. You are a winged beast hidden beneath a wolf pelt.”

Jon tried to hide his obvious discomfort.

“I am pleased to make your aquaintance,” he replied politely.

“You are welcome,” Mother Mole replied and moved closer, her wrinkled hands brushed over his hair and cheek.

“What are you doing?” Jon asked, Val’s eyes resting on him. She was utterly silent.

“Reading the signs,” the old crone explained and squeezed his cheek, before looking in his eyes.

“What can you see?” Jon asked, his voice laced with mockery.

“An empty castle,” the old woman croaked. “When you return home you will only find an empty castle.”

Her words filled him with fear, though he tried his best to hide his feelings.

“What do you say?” he asked quietly. “And my siblings? Can you see them?”

“They won’t be there,” the old crone added and brushed her hand over his shoulder. Her eyes had turned white like snow. “I see a King who wears the head of a wolf. I see a songbird under the thrall of another colorful bird. I see a young boy who took the skin of a crow. I see a young girl without a face. I see a young boy feasting on unicorn blood. They won’t be there…when you return. The gates will be barred, Jon Snow.”

Jon shuddered and thought of the recurring dream that had haunted him ever since he joined the Night’s Watch. He had returned to Winterfell, but everyone was gone. And whenever he went down to the crypts he found the doors barred. Now he knew why.

 _I am not a Stark_ , he thought bitterly, anger stirring inside him. _That is why the door is barred._

Ever carefully, he brushed the old crone’s hand away and rose to his feet. He had heard enough and he longed for the warmth of his skins.

“I will now take my leave from you…I am rather tired,” he declared and slipped away. Ghost waited for him at his sleeping pace in the corner of the tent. He had offered to sleep elsewhere, but Mance wanted to keep him close and thus he remained here. Ghost lifted his head when he started to pull of his pelted cloak and slipped beneath the furs. He tried to sleep, but the words of the crone wouldn’t leave him. He pondered over them over and over again, until his mind was starting to hurt.

“Jon,” Val’s voice roused him out of his sleep. He pulled himself back to a sitting position, her form nothing more than a shadow in the dimly-lit tent. “Are you well?”

Jon patted Ghost’s head and forced a smile over his lips.

“What Mother Mole said about my home…I don’t like it,” he admitted grudgingly. Val moved closer and sat down on the ground beside him, her face illuminated by the flickering flames.

“I can only imagine,” she replied. “Mother Mole’s prophecies can be frightening, but not all of them come true. I don’t believe that a person’s future is fated. That would be bloody awful, don’t you agree?”

Jon broke into a reluctant smile. He shouldn’t complain. He was alive, warm, fed and a beautiful girl was smiling at him. Yet he felt utterly miserable. He often felt the urge to smash something to pieces or to tear something apart. Mayhaps it was slipping into Ghost’s mind that had given him these violent thoughts, but maybe it was only the waiting that was beginning to take a toll on him.

“I never belonged to Winterfell,” he admitted then the painful truth. “My Uncle’s wife always hated me. Her hateful looks always told me...you don’t belong here…you are not one of us. That was partly the reason I joined he Night’s Watch. I thought the people there would accept me. Even there I was an outsider. Not that I made many friends, when I strutted around like a high lord, demanding to be treated with respect. I was a bloody fool.”

“We are all bloody fools then,” she replied and grinned again. Her warm breath brushed over his face and the rumble of her laughter stirred something inside his groin. Involuntarily his eyes darted to her lips. He wondered what it would feel like to kiss them. He had never kissed a girl, beside the one of the whores in Wintertwon. Robb had wanted to grant him a gift and convinced him to go there to lose his maidenhead, but in the end he ran away again.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like girls, but that he feared to father bastards, who would end up growing up like him. _You are no longer a bastard_ , he realized then. It was a strange feeling that overcame him in this moment. It felt as if a heavy weight fell from his shoulders. _You are no longer Eddard Stark’s burden. He is dead and gone._

“Jon,” Val addressed him, her hand touching his shoulders. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Not at all,” he replied, grabbed her shoulders and pulled her closer, before placing his lips on hers. They were soft, just as he expected, but also moist. It was a clumsy kiss, but she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she brushed her hands through his hair and parted his lips, deepening the kiss. He was not prepared for the sensation, overwhelming him. His breeches grew very uncomfortable as her tongue brushed over his and he pulled away immediately.

His cheeks burned when he stared back at her, his breathing labored.

She looked more than confused.

“Why did you stop?”

Her question was not what he expected.

“You are not angry?” he asked her and searched her face. It was slightly flushed, her lips swollen.

“Why would I be angry?” she asked and moved closer, her hand snaking between his legs and into his breeches. “You are not bad, but I suppose you are still in need of practice…Let me help you.”

He gasped when her fingers brushed over his cock. No one had ever touched him there, but it felt good. He couldn’t help but to grunt as she stroked him, ever slowly, her grey-blue eyes resting on his. She bit her lips and continued ever slowly, as if to tease him. He closed his eyes, blending out the the pleasure washing over him and couldn’t help but to grunt in displeasure after she had abruptly stopped.

“Angry?” she asked teasingly and started to pull off her pelted boots. Her upper tunic followed and she was about to pull down her breeches when he finally managed to speak again.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice, strained like glass.

“Undressing,” she replied quickly. “Isn’t that what you want?”

 _What I want_ , he repeated. No one had ever asked him what he wanted.

“Aye,” he confirmed and searched her face. “And do you want it to?”

“Would I be undressing if it weren’t so?” she asked, pulled off her breeches and slipped beneath the skins. “You are really a strange boy…asking all these questions.”

“Aye, I suppose I am rather strange,” he admitted, his voice strained and distant.

She was now hovering before him and leaned down to kiss him again, her lips softly touching his as her hands brushed over his shoulders to press him down. He let her do as she pleased. He knew nothing about these things, but he was eager to learn. She showed him how touch her breasts and how to kiss her. In return she stroked him again, before leading him between her thighs. Jon’s head fell back and he squeezed his eyes shut at the feel of her around him.

She leaned down to kiss him again, as she moved up and down his member. _Gods_ , he thought and brushed his hands through her hair, soft moans spilling from his mouth. He kissed her fiercely, clinging to the little amount of self-control he had. His release came upon him like a sudden torrent of rain, washing away his thoughts and anger.

His was breathing still labored when he opened his eyes to look at her. She sighed and lifted herself from him, lying down next to him.

Her warm body next to his felt pleasant, but he couldn’t help but to feel ashamed about his lack of endurance. He could almost hear Theon’s mocking laughter in his ears.

She gave him a teasing smile and played with a stray lock of her hair.

“Don’t fret. It takes time and effort to learn it properly.”

Jon’s cheeks burned, but he couldn’t help but to smile.

“You knew that I was a maid?”

She laughed and shrugged her shoulders.

“I guessed so, by how embarrassed you were for rubbing your cock against my back when we were sleeping side by side.”

“I don’t understand you,” he remarked and swallowed hard. “You never told Mance that it was me who killed Jarl. Why are you no longer angry with me? What changed?”

She frowned at that, but didn’t look angry.

“Jarl killed my previous lover. It is not uncommon that men kill each other for a woman, but it never stopped my people from sitting down at a table and share ale with one another after the fighting is done. Back then I threatened you because you were a crow. Now you are no longer a crow. Don’t fret about the past. I won’t kill you.”

“I am not afraid of you,” he assured her.

She nodded her head and rose to her feet. Then she started to pull on her clothing. “That’s why I like you. Sleep now and tomorrow we will talk to Mance about our battle plans.”

Jon was stunned by her answer.

“How can you be sure that he will agree?”

She turned around and gave him a mischievous smile.

“I already told you. You are no longer a crow…What you just did is proof enough for me.”

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In regards to Stannis: There are two ways I could handle him.
> 
> 1\. I could kill him off at the Battle of Blackwater. I mean it is not unreasonable that he would die there and have Davos and Shireen go North due to the Lannisters wanting their heads.
> 
> 2\. I could have him face Jon, though I would probably change the timing regarding his arrival, meaning that Jon would arrive at Castle Black before Stannis joins the fight against the Free Folk. I doubt Stannis would accept anyhing less than the Free Folk bowing down to him, which means it would end up in a blood struggle. Yet it would delay the battle with the Boltons for several chapters at least.
> 
> Tell me what you want and I will write it. I am kinda undecided because I kinda wanted to write a book-canon story. However, I don't really care for Stannis as a character. I don't hate him nor do I like him. He would die anyway so I leave it up for you to decide.


	7. Val

**Val**

The wet snowflakes melted in her face as she led her horse over the frozen stream snaking its way through the haunted forest. Everywhere she looked she found trees; ironwoods with trunks as thick as barrels, slender sentinels, oaks and now and then a weirwood tree.

Two weeks ago they had left her people. As promised, Blackhands had returned a day after Jon had sent out the crows.They counted a bit more than one hundred men and women. Most of them were people she could trust, among them Tormund’s Giantsbane, Ygritte, Soren Shieldbreaker, but also new ones.

There was Longspear Ryk, who had recently stolen Tormund’s daughter Munda. He was a tall man with a friendly demeanour. Ygritte had called him a weakling, because one of her previous lovers had managed to break his arm during a mock fight. Still, this didn’t seem to hinder his success with the ladies. He may not be the best looking man, but Muda swore that Ryk didn’t receive the name Longspear for nothing. Tormund also insisted to take him with them, because he was an excellent archer.

Further prominent additions were Toregg, Tormund’s oldest boy and Sigorn, the Magnar of Thenn’s oldest son. Like his father, Toregg was a massive man graced with a bright red beard. He liked girls just as much as he liked his father’s disgusting ale, but nobody could deny his prowess in battle. Sigorn looked much like his father, albeit younger and shorter. He had a lean body, sharp grey eyes and a receding hairline that made him look younger than his years. Toregg, garbed in skins and pelt, looked almost like a beggar compared to him. Sigorn wore bronze greaves, a leather shirt sewn with bronze scales and was known to wield a beautiful bronze sword.

Every one of them brought people they considered trustworthy. Tormund brought about thirty men and ten spearwives. Longspear Ryke brought his two younger brothers Arne and Toke, two kinsmen named Ulf the Wolfish and Thyra Bloodhair. Ygritte had managed to convince ten other spearwives from her clan to join their cause while Sigorn brought thirty men in total, though most of them were younger spearmen and friends who wanted to prove themselves in battle.

Most of them travelled on a mount, safe for Longspear Ryke’s brothers and kinmen, who were seated atop their sleds, made of walrus bones and were pulled by huge savage dogs, nearly as big as Ghost. Next to the Thenn’s they looked like savage beasts, dressed in their garb of skis, bones, antlers and tusks. When she had first met Longspear Ryke she couldn’t believe that he hailed from the Frozen Shore as he shared little of their known savagery.

“We are close to Craster’s Keep,” Jon remarked, his dark gaze fixed on Ghost, who was running a few paces ahead of them. “We should be careful.”

Val nodded her head and Tormund laughed.

“Craster’s the one who should piss himself,” Tormund remarked and stroke his beard. “I doubt he and his wives would be able to fight us.”

“I am not referring to Craster, but my brothers,” Jon Snow explained, his voice muffled by the shawl wrapped around his neck. “The Lord Commander might have dispatched some of them to return to Craster’s Keep.”

“Then we are going to kill them,” Sigorn added. His voice had a very heavy accent and often Jon only understood half he said. “They don’t know that we are coming.”

Jon Snow nodded his head, but remained silent. He didn’t seem to relish the idea of killing his former companion.

 _If he betrays us I am going to kill him myself_ , she thought, a strange feeling of sadness taking hold of her heart. She had come to like Jon Snow over the last weeks and the reason for that was not only that he had shared her bed. Val had so far taken six lovers and only half of them she he had liked.

Jarl had been one of those she had liked. She had liked his clean body and his brash character, but Jon and Jarl had little in common. Jon had something icy about him and was tongue-tied, though he certainly didn’t lack in wit. Strangely, that’s what she liked the most about him. He didn’t spend all day, trying to impress her. He was always straightforward and blunt, though he was much younger than her.

“Whatever happens,” Val added with a smile. “My spear is ready.”

Tormund laughed and Sigorn’s men raised their spears as if to profess their willingness to fight.

“Did you see that, my boy,” Tormund remarked, his small grey eyes darting back to Jon. “You and your strange crow friend better keep your word or these spears will find their way up your arse.”

If Jon Snow was afraid it didn’t show on his face. His dark eyes simply darted to Blackhands. He rode far ahead of them. Above his head fluttered a flock of crows, their cries drowned out by the howling wind.

“I know that,” Jon replied at last and nudged his feet in the sides of his horse, speeding it down the hill, cracking sound filling his eyes. Yesterday it had snowed and the night had proven icy, leaving the ground frozen hard. They had hardly slept that night, hiding beneath their skins. Just thinking about it filled her with warmth. She had expected that Jon Snow would be hesitant to join her bed, but quite the contrary was true. He was quite eager, like most young men were, though it also meant that she had to bother Mother Mole for an extra ration of sling grass. Val liked babes well enough, but having one of her own was out of the question. She wanted to be able to fight when the enemy came for them.

Dusk was close when they reached a muddy trail, which according to Tormund, should lead them straight to Craster’s Keep. The woods surrounding grew only darker as they wove their way past great oaks, grey-green sentinels and black-barked ironwood trees. Along the way their way they had to remove several fallen trees that blocked their path.

Night had fallen when they had finally arrived at Craster’s Keep.

It was Val’s first visit to Craster’s Keep, but she had heard enough about this rotten place to fill her stomach with dread.

As expected, her low expectations were soon confirmed. What they found was a pigsty, an empty sheepfold and a windowless daub-and-wattle hall scarce worthy of the name. It was long and low, clinked together from longs and roofed with sod. The whole compound stood atop a hill, surrounded by an earthen-like dike.

“As beautiful as ever,” Toregg jested, narrowed his eyes in confusion as he looked back to Tormund. “But I am surprised that we see none of his wives roaming about…”

Tormund nodded his head and going by Jon’s serious look he seemed to agree.

“Something’s wrong here,” Jon added and eyed the trail leading to the entrance of the hall. It was flanked by a pair of animal skulls stuck on high poles, a bear on one side and a ram on the other. Along the way the found dead corpses, most of them garbed in the black garb of the crows. “We should be careful…there was a battle…they could rise.”

“Aye,” Tormund agreed, sobered at the sight of the dead bodies. He still didn’t hesitate to make one of his silly remarks. “Where the fuck are his girls? They often run about as naked as their nameday...”

Ygritte gave him a disbelieving look.

“Aren’t they cold?”

This was also Val’s first visit to Craster’s Keep.

“Craster’s not the kind of man who cares about his wives and daughters to be warm,” Sigorn explained and dismounted. Ten of his men followed, their spears in hand. “I will go inside… Stay here…it is better if they do not realize our full strength.”

Jon Snow dismounted as well and called after them. “Ghost will go with you.”

Realizing what he meant, she dismounted as well and came to his side. He gave her an assuring nod and swallowed hard as he held unto her shoulder. Within the blink of a moment his eyes had turned white as snow and his body went limp.

Soon Blackhands joined them.

“Jon Snow speaks spoke true…Blood has been shed in this place,” Blackhands said, one of the old Crow’s seated atop his shoulder. “They will find few survivors, most of them hostile, but no danger to us. Still, we shouldn’t linger here longer than necessary.”

“We hardly got sleep last night…we need rest,” she countered. “How are we going to fight if we are exhausted?”

“We can’t afford to linger here, because we need to find the one who is going lead us through…It told Jon Snow,” Blackhands replied impassively.

Val was confused.

“I thought you are going to lead us through?”

“To pass through the Black Gate you need a living brother of the Night’s Watch,” Blackhands explained.

“We have Jon,” she said and jerked her head at Jon’s unmoving body. “He was a crow.”

“He soiled his vows by taking you to bed,“ Blackhands replied. “But it matters not…the Three-Eyed-Crow expected this to happen and he has already located the man who is going to lead us through.”

“Understood,” Val replied. She had seen the old Crows powers and she cared not who they had to find as long as her people would be able to pass the Wall. “But you could have told me.”

“Your men are back,” Blackhands muttered and jerked his head at the approaching Thenn men. They were led by Ghost, who came rushing to her side, his wet tongue licking her cheek. Only after she had brushed her hand of her cheek did she noticed the blood Ghost had left on her.

“Craster’s dead and so are his wives,” one of the Thenn men explained. “We found their corpses and five men. One of them attacked Sigorn, but the wolf killed him. The others we took captive.”

“I know them,” Jon Snow croaked and sat up. His eyes had changed back to their black colour when they darted back to Ghost. Ever slowly, Val helped him to get back to his wobbly feet. “I need to speak to them…I need to know what happened here.”

“As you say, my boy,” Tormund exclaimed and called the others to attention. “You heard the boy! The path is free! Let’s move to the hall!”

They fastened their horses, before entering into the hall.

Val eyed the hall from the distance and tightened her grip on her spear. This place was much too small for hundred men. She had hoped for a warm place to sleep, but it seemed another dismal night of little sleep lay before them.

“Ghost, stay outside,” Jon commanded and opened the two flaps of deer hide, covering the entrance of the hall. Around the fire pit sat four of Sigorn’s men. There was a sweet smell in the air that mixed with the smell of wet dog. When she laid eyes on the rotten corpse lying beneath a loft she knew where the smell came from. It was a young man and going by his black cloak another crow.

“That’s Rolly of Sisterton,” Jon said and went from corpse to corpse, giving their names.

Val shuddered at the sight. It wasn’t like she had never seen dead men, but she knew what they could become.

“We have to burn them or they will rise,” she said and received agreeing looks from Sigorn and Tormund.

“Best would be to burn down this rotten place,” Sigorn suggested after he had joined them. “Then he pointed at the three men, who sat propped up against the wall, ten spearmen guarding them. “These are the survivors…we also found a girl, one of Craster’s wives.”

The survivors all wore black cloaks and going by Jon’s looks he knew who they were.

The black-cloaked men seemed to recognize Jon Snow.

“What happened here, Dirk?” Jon asked one of the men, his voice ringing with suppressed anger. “Who killed all these men?”

“Craster the sunken cunt attacked us!” the man sneered and showed his rotten teeth. “We fought back, but he killed the Lord Commander and a good dozen of our men…we started to burn the bodies, but there was not enough time...It is good that you came…Are those Wildlings?”

“We call ourselves the Free Folk, crow,” Ygritte corrected the man in a sharp tone. “Only your kind calls us Wildlings.”

“Ygritte speaks true,” Jon agreed and freed his blade. “I counted more than twenty slain brothers…Craster must have turned into a monster if he managed to kill so many of you. What happened here? Who killed the Lord Commander?”

“Dirk did it!” one of the men exclaimed fearfully, his green eyes fixed Jon’s blade. “He planned it all!”

“Traitor!” Dirk snapped, but grew immediately silent when Jon’s blade graced his neck. “Trait…”

“I ask you again,” Jon Snow whispered, his voice taking a dangerous tone. “Tell me what happened or I am going to cut open your neck and watch as you bleed to death…”

“Aye,” the man stuttered and swallowed nervously. “We killed him…you have to understand…we were starving…half of our men died at the Fist of the First Men…then these monsters attacked us…surely you understand…as you are running around with these Wildlings…no members of the Free Folk…We are in the same boat, Snow.”

A moment of silence passed as Jon’s dark eyes flickered to the third man, a young man with a gaunt face and a shock of freckles.

“Who killed the Lord Commander?” Jon asked again.

“Dirk didn’t kill the Lord Commander,” the boy stuttered, tears glimmering in his eyes as he jerked his head at the man in the middle. “It was Ollo Lophand who plunged his dagger in the Lord Commander’s belly…but…but Karl helped.”

The large man in the middle grimaced angrily and clenched his teeth.

“Aye, I helped him and I would do it again,” said man snarled at Jon. “Don’t act so high, bastard. You are not better…running about with this Wildling scum…How many of these spear whores have you fucked? What right do you have to judge us?”

It happened all so quickly. A flicker of anger washed over Jon’s face, before he had plunged his sword in the man’s chest.

Jon twisted the blade and clenched his teeth as he pulled his blade free. The man choked, fell backwards and moved no more.

The one named Dirk froze and the young boy gave Jon a pleading look.

“I didn’t partake in the killing…I swear!” the boy stuttered. “Please don’t kill me.”

“Be silent!” Jon snapped angrily and was about to lift his blade when one of Sigorn’s men brought the surviving girl.

The girl couldn’t be much older than one and two. She trembled like a leaf as Jon looked at her. His demeanour softened immediately and he lowered his blade.

“What is your name?”

“Marya,” the girl whispered as Jon eyed her tattered clothing and the blood running down her legs. “Marya.”

“Tell me,” Jon prodded gently. “What happened here? Were all of your sisters killed?”

“No,” Marya whispered.”Gilly got away and Dyah…she left not long ago. She lost her wits after they took their turns on her and out into the woods.”

“I see,” Jon said and shifted his attention back to the trembling boy. Val was not good at reading crows, but this one didn’t look like he had it in him to rape someone. “Did this one hurt you?”

“No,” Marya whispered. “This one was hiding in the loft when the others were hurting us…like the big one that took Gilly away.”

“Sam,” Jon Snow whispered, an expression of relief washing over his long face. Then he pointed the tip of his blade on the man called Dirk. “Did he hurt you?”

“Aye,” the girl whispered. “He killed my sister…he cut her throat.”

The one called Dirk wasn’t even able to make a sound, before Jon’s opened his throat.

Then Jon Snow shifted his attention back to the crying crow boy.

“Dry your tears, Mawney,” Jon told boy. “I won’t kill you. You will be our prisoner.”

Then he turned back to Sigorn.

“Let’s gather the corpse,” Jon declared and swept his gaze over the room. “But undress them first…we will need their black cloaks.”

“Why that?” Ygritte asked. “We have enough warm clothing.”

“It’s part of the plan,” Jon explained. “It will be easier to get into Castle Black if we wear a black cloak.”

“Aye,” Sigorn agreed and called his men to work. “You crows love your black cloaks, don’t you?”

A ghost of a smile showed on Jon’s lips as he turned to look at her and the trembling girl called Marya.

“I will take care of the girl,” Val assured Jon.

Ygritte grimaced as she passed the girl named Marya and followed after the others. Taking one’s daughters to bed was a vile custom, but Marya was not at fault for Craster’s deeds.

“Do you have something warmer to put on?” she asked Marya and eyed her sparse clothing. She wore not more than a deerskin robe and pieces of cloth wrapped around her feet.

“Aye,” Marya confirmed and stumbled back to the ladder, leading up to the loft. She disappeared and soon returned with a pelted, sheepskin cloak wrapped around her shoulders.

“That was my ma’s…its too big, but is warm enough.”

Val nodded her head in understanding.

“Come,” Val prodded and held out her hand. “I will introduce you to a friend of mine.”

Mary took her hand and together they made their way outside. The air cut into her skin and the girl trembled, but she didn’t complain even when they fought their way through the waist-high snow.

Thyra Bloodhair was feeding her hounds when Val and Marya joined her. Longspear Ryke was also there and gave the girl a curious look.

“Who’s that?”

“Marya…one of Craster’s wives or daughters…I am not sure,” Val explained and smiled at Thyra. “She is in a rather bad state and there’s enough space on that sled of yours.”

Thyra grimaced and wrinkled her nose.

“Why can’t the others take her?”

“A woman would be better,” Val insisted and patted the girl’s shoulder.

Thyra sighed and brushed her red hair out of her face.

“Very well…I owe you,” she agreed and waved her hand at Marya.

Yet Marya didn’t move and gave Val a fearful look.

Val gave her an encouraging smile.

“Go…Thyra is half as bad as she looks. She won’t bite you.”

Finally, Marya moved and Val helped her to climb on the sled. The hounds started to snarl when they smelled the girl’s scent, but Thyra silenced them with a snap of her whip.

“Don’t piss yourself, little girl,” Thyra growled. “They don’t eat skinny girls like you.”

Marya nodded and hid her face beneath the hood pelt cloak. Val felt the urge to kick Thyra, though she doubted that would be any use.

“Take care of her,” Val told Thyra and graced Marya with another smile. “I will return to see you later.”

Then Val left to join the others. By the time she had returned Jon, Sigorn and the others had gathered the corpses in the hall. Val didn’t count them, but it had to be around thirty, most of them black brothers and a handful of women.

“How is the girl?” Jon Snow asked. He sounded weary and flexed his hand in an anxious manner.

“I got her bundled up and sent her to ride with Thyra Bloodhair,” she explained and touched his arm. He stopped flexing motion and gave her a questioning look.

“So you liked the Lord Commander?” Val asked more out of curiosity than compassion for the man. Mormont and his men had haunted her people like animals. He could rot in hell for all she cared.

“Liking is a strong word,” Jon Snow replied hesitatingly and squeezed her hand. With his other hand he patted the sword slung over his shoulder. “He gave me this sword after I saved him from a dead man. I would have died without this sword and I respected him.”

“Well, I am glad he gave you his sword,” she agreed. “Though I cannot bring myself to like your Lord Commander.”

Surprisingly, Jon Snow’s lips twisted into a smile.

“I understand,” he said, let go of her hand swept his gaze over the heap of corpses. “When I first came here I saw how Craster carried his own babe into the woods. Perhaps that is the reason _they_ leave this place alone…,” he trailed off.

“Mayhaps,” Val agreed, before they stepped outside to join their companions.

No word was spoken as the Thenn’s men set Craster’s keep aflame. Higher and higher the flames grew, casting a red glimmer over the surrounding woods.

“Well done,” Blackhands rattling voice snapped them out of their reverie. “We need to move on. The one we are searching for is in dire need of our help...The Three-Eyed-Crow told me you know him.”

“I think I know who it is,” Jon muttered and lifted his head to look at Blackhands. “His name is Sam.” 

…


	8. Jon

**Jon**

The icy wind pierced his skin like a sharp blade. Jon narrowed his eyes, but he was unable to see further than a few miles. By his estimation they should be close to _Whitetree_ , one of the deserted villages they had passed through on their way to _the_ _Fist of the First Men_.

“Fuck this storm!” Val cursed, her face hidden behind the thick shawl wrapped around her mouth. Jon could only make out the outlines of her body, her white pelt disappearing among the thick snowfall.

“We are close,” Blackhands rattling voice repeated for the hundred time. As always, he appeared next to Jon as if conjured from thin air, though his mottled black cloak made it easier to find him.

“Good to hear!” Sigorn mumbled, his face concealed by the hood of his cloak. Tormund grumbled his agreement and Ygritte’s clattering teeth made it impossible for her to speak. Yet she didn’t complain and they continued onwards, Ghost and the Thenn men leading the van. Jon rode behind them, Val, Tormund and Sigorn at his side. They were flanked by more Thenn men and the rear was protected by Longspear Ryk’s kin, driving their sleds through the thick snow, the growling of their hounds mixing with the howling of the wind. “I would love to spend the night in this cursed place!”

“It can’t be worse than Craster’s Keep,” Val quipped back and led her horse up the hill. Once they had reached the top, the sky had finally cleared and the sun burst through the thick clouds.

Blackhands was right. Not far ahead lay the village he had trespassed before. Jon recognized the large weirwood tree growing in the centre of the village and could also make out a handful of stone hovels.

“There it is!” he heard Tormund’s laughter ringing in his ears. “You heard the crow…let’s move.”

Jon could only agree, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as they moved towards the village.

“Your companion speaks true,” Blackhands added. “Or the man we are seeking for will find an early grave.

“Where is he?” Jon asked impatiently as he swept a searching gaze over the landscape.

“Death!” he heard the croaking of the crows, soaring above their heads towards the village. “Death! Death! Death!”

“I think that’s our cue to follow!” Val announced and urged her horse down the hill. The sound of cracking snow filled Jon’s ears as he did the same, fresh snowflakes melting in his face as his gaze followed Ghost and the Thenn men.

The village looked as deserted as Jon recalled. Most of the buildings were destroyed, snow falling through the broken roofs, safe from the long hall made of logs and overgrown with moss.

“Death!” the crows croaked again. The sound of their voices made him shiver, but not because of the cold. “Death!”

“The enemy is close,” Jon deduced and received a confirming nod from Blackhands.

“We should be careful,” Val suggested and pulled one of the obsidian daggers the Children of the Forest had gifted them from the vest of her cloak. “This could get nasty!”

Jon nodded his head in agreement and freed _Longclaw_ , his eyes fixed on the crows circling above their heads.

Suddenly, he heard a high and screeching sound that made his blood freeze. Then he saw the enemy, all garbed in black and their faces familiar to him, the faces of his former brothers.

“Seven Hells!” he heard a fearful, but also very familiar voice. Jon’s heart skipped a beat when he spotted Sam, standing backed against a weirwood tree, his hand wound around the Wildling girl he had wanted to safe. _Gilly_ , Jon recalled. “No…no…not the horse!”

Hearing Sam’s plea for help spurred Jon into action. All reason forgotten, he kicked the heels of his feet in the sides of his horse and urged it down the hill towards the enemy.

The sight of the slaughtered horse made Jon’s stomach heave, but he forgot his discomfort once he had buried his blade in the first enemy.

The sweet scent of death hovered over them like a curse, but the fact that they outnumbered the enemy was to their favour.

Jon didn’t know how long the battle had lasted, before the last one of the dead man fell to the ground, his breathing laboured from the exhaustion of the battle.

“It is done,” Val whispered, her gloved hand touching his shoulder.

“Done! Done! Done!” the crows croaked again as Jon turned around, trying to make out Sam and Gilly. The girl grouched on the ground, something small squirming at her chest.

_A babe_ , Jon realized at once. _She had her babe._

“Sam!” Jon exclaimed, sheathed his blade and stumbled towards his friend. “Sam!”

Sam didn’t speak, his mouth opening and closing. He looked as if he had lost his wits.

“Jon…” his friend finally stuttered, his eyes as wide as saucers. “Are you real?”

Jon couldn’t help but to laugh, but didn’t dare to touch Sam, fearing that he might scare him death.

“Aye, I am real, Sam.”

As if a spell had been lifted from Sam, he hurled himself at Jon and pulled him into a tight embrace. Jon felt as if he was attacked by a massive bear, but he felt only happiness when he saw Sam’s tears glittering in his eyes.

“I thought you are dead,” Sam stuttered and swept his gaze over the crowd of people that had gathered around them. “And you brought friends…Wildlings.”

"The Free Folk,” Jon corrected him with a smile and grabbed his friend’s shoulder. “They saved me and now they saved you. They won’t hurt us. They are not the enemy.”

“Of course,” Sam stuttered and pulled on Gilly’s arm. “That’s Jon…Remember? He is a friend…he will help us get back to Castle Black.”

Gilly pulled down her scarf, her doe-eyes eying him fearfully.

“You are the boy with the white wolf.”

Jon nodded his head in confirmation and patted Ghost’s head when he came to sniffle at the frightened girl.

“I assume that means you recall Ghost?”

A ghost of a smile hushed over Gilly’s lips. “I recall…”

“We should take shelter in the long hall,” Val suggested and pointed at the sky. “Nightfall is close and a fresh storm is brewing.”

“Val speaks true,” Sigorn added. “I don’t like staying here, but we should be safe as long as we burn the bodies.

“There is a fire pit in the hall,” Sam suggested, his mind quick as ever. “There we can burn the bodies.”

“He is rather quick for a crow,” Tormund remarked and shouldered his axe. “I suppose you two have a lot to talk about…” he trailed off.

Jon swallowed hard, unsure what Sam would think of his change of allegiance.

“We have,” Jon confirmed and gave Sam an encouraging smile. In the long hall there was not enough space for all their men, but none of their companions complained. They worked as efficiently as ever.  Tormund’s men an Ygritte’s friends transported the bodies to the firepit while Sigorn and his men split up to gather firewood. Jon offered to go with them, but Tormund told him to speak to his crow friend.

“I cannot believe that I found you in company of Wildlings,” Sam remarked after he had recounted his own story and how he had faced the same enemy as Jon and Val. “The others won’t like that.”

“Free Folk,” Val corrected Sam again. “Only crows like you call us Wildlings. I also doubt your crow brothers will like it that you stole one of Craster’s girls.”

Sam blushed.

“I…,” he stuttered helplessly and searched Jon’s gaze. “I didn’t steal her…I kept my vows.”

“Whatever,” Val quipped and received a flabbergasted look from Sam. “The man who led us here said that you can help us pass the Wall.”

Jon flinched at her blunt choice of words.

“Pass the Wall?” Sam stuttered, his eyes growing impossible wide as he stared back at Jon. “You cannot…it would be against the rules of the Night’s Watch.” “The rules make no sense,” Jon defended himself. “Do you really think the Wall was built to keep out the Free Folk?”

“No,” Sam agreed hesitatingly, but Jon saw the fear in his eyes. “But the others will call you an oathbreaker. They are going to kill you.”

 “Not if I can take control of the Wall,” Jon replied, not hiding his intentions. Sam gasped, but Jon grabbed his arm and forced Sam to look at him. “I know this goes against everything you have been told, but there are hundred thousands of people sitting behind the Wall. Among them are babes and women, innocents who will die if we don’t allow them to pass. I am well aware what my brothers will think of me, but it doesn’t change what we must to. The oath bids us to guard the realms of men, but the Free Folk are also men. I need to save them, no matter how hard it will be. Please, Sam, for the sake of our friendship. Please help us.”

Sam stared at Jon for a long time, but when his soft-hearted friend grabbed Jon’s hand he knew that he won him over.

“I will help you,” Sam confirmed in a trembling voice, his gaze darting back to Gilly and her babe. “I will help you.”

 …


	9. Bran

**Bran**

Bran narrowed his eyes against the bright sunlight falling through the broken ceiling of the castle. He also heard the wind howling through the broken towers, causing the old wood to groan like an ailing woman. With gritted teeth he pulled himself up and swept his gaze over the ruin that was once the Nightfort. The great hall was still visible, but the yards and stables were overgrown with greenery, an old weirwood tree jutting through the gaping hole of the domed kitchen.

As he craned his neck, he found Meera and Jojen Reed curled against Summer’s massive body. Meera looked even prettier when she was asleep, her pale face illuminated by the sheen of sunlight falling through the broken ceiling. Summer’s warm fur had kept them warm through the night, but sadly they didn’t have enough space for Hodor. The soft-hearted giant slept curled against the wall, a thick pelt thrown over his body.

Bran’s head still squirmed from his strange dreams as he stretched out his hand to touch Summer’s head. As if he was able to read his thoughts, Summer opened his eyes and licked his hand.

“Bran,” Meera’s soft voice aroused his attention. Bran craned his neck and found her awake, her brown hair dishevelled and free from its usual braid. Jojen was still asleep though, his soft snoring ringing through the hall. “Did you sleep well?”

 Bran forced a smile over his lips and lied.

 “I am well…just bad dreams.”

Meera nodded her head in understanding and leaned over to touch his cheek. Her hand was cold, but Bran didn’t care. His heart was always making summersaults whenever Meera’s green eyes were searching his face. Seeing her up close he couldn’t notice the dark circles under these pretty eyes.

“What did you see?” she asked, her soft voice drowned out by the squeaking of the rats and the howling wind. “Mayhaps it would help you to talk about it?”

“I saw Robb…and my sisters…and Jon,” Bran replied in a whispery voice, mindful not to rouse Jojen from his sleep. “These dreams scared me.”

“What scared you?” Meera asked and leaned closer, her warm breath mingling with his.

He read fear and curiosity in her eyes.

“I saw Greywind die…and Sansa was weeping…Arya was killing some…she looked so angry and was covered in blood…and Jon…he was fighting a man of ice with blue eyes…he was nearly killed.”

Meera shuddered beside him, her hand tightening on his shoulder.

“Man of ice?” she asked her brows furrowed in concentration. “Isn’t your brother in the Night’s Watch?”

“Aye, Jon left before father departed for King’s Landing,” Bran explained, unable to hide his sadness. Robb had promised him that they would visit Jon at the Wall, but that had been just another delusion.  _Crows are liars_ , Old Nan had told him once, but the crow’s promise was all he had. It was his only hope to walk again.  _I need to find this Three-Eyed-Crow_ , Bran knew and forced a smile over his lips. “Mayhaps it was only a bad dream and nothing more.”

“Mayhaps,” Meera returned with a smile and smoothed his red untidy hair. His hair was now reaching to his shoulders and he was in dire need of a haircut. “Mayhaps you are right.”

“Your dreams are not just dreams,” Jojen Reed added, his voice solemn as ever. “You are a green seer. Whatever you saw is in important.”

“Poor brother,” Meera whispered and moved to his side to brush her hand over his head. His face was gaunt and his eyes looked feverish. “Are you feeling sick?”

“I am well, sister,” Jojen assured her impassively and brushed her hand away. Then he angled his head to look at Bran. “We need to move on…we need to find a passage…the Three-Eyed-Crow is waiting for us.”

“The Black Gate is sealed,” Meera countered skeptically. “We can’t get through.”

“Someone is coming our way,” Jojen answered in a mysterious voice. “This person will open the gate for us.”

Then he rose to his feet and stumbled towards Hodor. He patted the giant’s head and roused him from his sleep. “We need to move on.”

“Hodor,” the giant replied weakly, his eyes blurred from the lack of sleep. Then he rubbed his eyes and sat up. “Hodor?”

“Hodor,” Jojen said and pointed at Bran. “Bran needs your help.”

Hodor nodded his head and fastened his basket on his back. Then, much to Bran’s dismay, he lifted him in the basket while Meera fastened his pelted cloak around his shoulders.

“How do you know about this person?” Meera asked Jojen. “We could try finding another way. I and Hodor could go scouting and you and Bran could stay here to rest.”

“East from here you will find Deep Lake, then comes Queensgate. West from here is Icemark, but it’s all the same. All the gates are sealed except the ones at Castle Black, Eastwatch and the Shadow Tower…at least that is what I heard my Uncle Benjen say,” Bran added, unable to keep his mouth shut.

“This place is the only place to cross the Wall,” Jojen replied. “Follow me…I know a way.”

“Another one of your dreams, brother?” Meera asked and picked up her spear.

“Aye, sister,” Jojen replied and led the way. Meera sighed and followed suit, Summer walking beside Hodor and Meera behind them.

Much to Bran’s dismay, Jojen led them back to the well. Bran swallowed hard, fear washing over him.  _I must be brave_ , he reminded himself, but couldn’t help but to give Jojen a questioning look.

“Hurry up!” Jojen told them impatiently.

The well was deep and they had to climb down a staircase of swirling stone steps leading to an abyss of darkness. Meera had lit a torch, but even the light didn’t help to ease his fears.

“Hodor!” the giant’s voice echoed back at them. “Hodor!”

The other sound came so sudden that all of them froze in fear, safe Jojen.

“Did you hear that, brother?” Meera asked fearfully and searched Jojen’s face.

“We are close…they are coming,” Jojen Reed.

“Will you finally tell us who it is?” Bran asked, unable to keep still in his basket. “Who did you see?”

Jojen ignored his pleading tone, his gaze fixed on the dark well. The noise grew louder, as if there was someone crawling up through the darkness, wanting to devour them.

Meera clutched her spear and shuddered. Summer bared his teeth, his eyes fixed at the darkness.

“I hear footsteps,” Bran identified the noise. “They are coming from the well.”

Bran bit his lips and listened again. It sounded like heavy footfalls scarping over the stone. Whoever it was, it must be a giant or a massive man.

“They are friends,” Jojen assured Meera, but she kept her frog spear clutched to her chest, ready to strike at any enemy coming their way.

“But…,” Meera protested, but stopped abruptly when she heard a loud wail. She exhaled deeply, exchanged a quiet nod with Bran and stepped towards the well, her spear raised.

Bran couldn’t help but to gap when he saw the black shape, moving through the shadows.

His heart threatened to jump out of his chest when Meera hit the massive black figure with her spear. Another loud wail followed and the black figure staggered backwards.

“Mercy…!” the person pleaded. “Mercy!”

Bran was stunned to find a chubby boy rolling on the ground, fat tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Who are you?” Meera asked and backed away. “You are not even bleeding.”

“I am Sam…Samwell Tarly,” the boy stuttered, another sob spilling from his mouth. “You nearly killed me.”

“I did no such thing,” Meera defended herself and eyed him again. “As I said before…I see no blood.”

“There are more of them,” Jojen added and brushed Meera aside.

Bran leaned forward and looked down.

Jojen was right. There was a girl, standing by the lip of the well, her body covered in furs and squirming babe clutched to her chest. There was another person garbed in brown pelt, his face hidden in the shadows and a girl, her sharp-featured face illuminated by the torchlight. The girl carried a spear, but hers was much larger than Meera’s.

“You are a brother of the Night’s Watch,” Jojen remarked and jerked his head at Sam’s black cloak.

“I am,” the boy confirmed and rubbed his arm, tears glittering in his eyes. “I am a brother of the Night’s Watch…and as you can see…I didn’t come alone. That’s Gilly and her babe…and…,” the young man continued to stutter, but was promptly cut off.

“Jon Snow,” said a familiar voice. Bran shuddered and blinked once, twice and a third time, but it was no mistake. Jon’s long face looked thinner than he recalled, but his grey eyes were still the same.  _Arya’s eyes, father’s eyes…_

The tears came before he was even able to utter a single word.

“Bran!” Jon exclaimed and bridged the distance, his gloved hands touching his cheeks, before pulling him into a tight embrace. “What are you doing here? Why are you not in Winterfell?”

Bran didn’t answer at once and buried his head in Jon’s pale cloak. He smelled of blood, snow and pine trees.

“Winterfell was destroyed,” Jojen answered for him, his voice impassive as ever. “The Ironborn took it and after them the Boltons. Ramsay Bolton burned down the castle and took most of the inhabitants’ hostage.”

All blood drained from Jon’s face, his dark eyes impossible wide as he lifted his head to search Bran’s face.

“Jojen speaks true,” Bran sobbed. “Theon betrayed Robb…,” he continued, but Jon’s anguished face silenced him. He stumbled backwards, balanced himself against the stone wall, his breathing labored.

“Maybe we should sit down…” Meera offered.

“That’s a good idea,” the girl with the spear added. She was also garbed in pelt, her long blond hair kept in a tight braid.

“Aye,” Jon replied weakly and thus they sat down to speak. Hodor was so kind to lift Bran out of his basket and placed him on Meera’s furred cloak.

Bran waited for a moment, allowing Jon to regain his composure. Yet his face was still as pale as snow when he lifted his head and searched Bran’s face.

“You said that Robb was betrayed,” Jon repeated what Bran had told him only moments ago. “Is he still fighting in the South?”

“I think so,” Bran replied. “Sansa is in King’s Landing and Arya…we haven’t heard from her since father was killed.”

Jon didn’t speak. He was frozen for a moment as if someone had cast a spell over him.

“You are here,” Jon said in a strained voice, tears glittering in his dark eyes. “Where is Rickon? Did the Boltons kill him?”

“No,” Bran replied and covered Jon’s hand with his. “He is with Osha, a Wildling woman I saved…they went to Skagos.”

“Skagos,” Jon muttered and brushed his hair out of his face. “Gods…but at least he is alive…”

“You need to find and protect him, Jon,” Bran added. “He is the heir to Winterfell…that is if Robb doesn’t return.”

“We shall protect him together,” Jon countered and tightened his grip on Bran’s hand. “But you are the heir to Winterfell…you are the older son.”

“I am a cripple,” Bran gave him the cold truth. He wanted to do nothing more than to go with Jon, but he had a task to fulfil. “And I have to go to the Three-Eyed-Crow.”

If Jon was surprised it didn’t show on his face. Yet there was pain, so much pain.

“I won’t allow it!” Jon shouted suddenly and pulled him into another embrace. “Do you hear! I won’t allow it!”

“You gave your vow, Jon,” the blond-haired girl remarked softly and touched his shoulder. “You gave Blackhands your vow. You owe him after he helped us to come here…and you know it.”

Jon brushed her hand away, but not in a rough manner.

“I cannot send a crippled boy into the wilderness!” Jon told her, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Look at him…”

“We have two sleds,” the girl with the spear countered. “Longspear Ryke’s kin will get them to the cave and Blackhands will lead them. I doubt the Three-Eyed-Crow wants to see your brother harmed.”

“You met the Three-Eyed-Crow,” Jojen interrupted their conversation. “But you are not the one to lead us through the Black Gate.”

“No,” Jon confirmed in a quiet voice and jerked his head at Sam. “He is the one who led us through. As Val rightly mentioned…we brought friends with us…members of the Free Folk. We are going to take Castle Black.”

Bran was shocked, but then he knew Jon better than that. He must have reasons. Good reasons.

“Why?” Jojen asked.

“Because the Others are coming for the Free Folk and for…all of us. There are hundred thousands of them stuck beyond the Wall. The enemy can raise the death…they are going to enslave them into their army if we don’t allow them to cross the Wall.”

“I saw you fighting a man of ice…he had eyes as blue as frost,” Bran realized and shuddered at the thought of all these other visions.  _I saw Greywind die._

“That was an Other,” Jon repeated in a stunned voice. “What do you mean you saw it?”

“Bran is a greenseer…that’s why he needs to go to the Three-Eyed-Crow,” Jojen added. “He needs to learn or all is lost, but I am sure the Three-Eyed-Crow told you that.”

“Blackhands did,” Jon admitted grudgingly. “But the Three-Eyed-Crow speaks through him.”

“There you have it,” Jojen Reed countered and met Jon’s gaze. “We must go, whether you like or not, Jon Snow. No man can escape fate.”

“Fuck fate!” Jon cursed and looked as if he wanted to launch himself at Jojen, but the girl named Val grabbed his arm and stopped him. “Why are you all turning against me?”

“The boy is right,” Val admonished him. “You cannot deny the powers of this old Crow. He is our only hope and we need to move on. Time is running out.”

“Jon,” Sam said, who had observed their exchange in silence. “Only a day ago you gave me this speech about our duty to guard the realms of men. It seems to me your brother found his duty.”

“He is a child!” Jon snarled at Sam. “I cannot send a crippled child beyond the Wall! Would you send one of your sisters?”

Sam froze in fear, but he didn’t flinch away to give Jon the truth.

“The Others won’t care if he is a child or a babe…they are going to kill us all. If Bran can learn something from this Three-Eyed-Crow to help us defeat the enemy, we should allow him to go.”

A moment of silence passed, before Jon’s dark eyes darted back to Bran.

Then he fell to his knees and embraced Bran.

“I will find you!” Jon whispered. “I will come and find you once all is said and done. I promise.”

…


	10. Val

**Val**

The cold woke Val from her sleep. Wearily, she rubbed her eyes and rolled to the side, her gaze darting to the thick canopy of the crooked Ironwood tree. Even now, wrapped in her thick pelt she felt the cold and rubbed her shoulders to drive away the morning chill.

Turning around, she noticed Jon’s deserted sleeping place.

 _No wonder I am cold_ , she thought in amusement. _I have gotten used to him sleeping next to me._

 _How dare he leave_ , she mused and swept her gaze over her sleeping companions, wrapped up in their thick pelts and some of them garbed in crow clothing. Jon had instructed them to put on the garb they had taken from the corpses at Craster’s Keep.

Most of her companions had protested, but Val had vouched for Jon’s plan and thus they had grudgingly accepted his command.

Mindful of her steps, she stepped over sleeping bodies and soon reached the outskirts of the camp, where the Thenns stood guard, their spears raised. Many of them had also donned the black cloak of the crows.

“Val,” Sigorn greeted her, his grey eyes meeting hers.

Val returned the greeting with a smile. “Where is Jon?”

“He ventured into the woods,” Sigorn explained and jerked his head at the dark forest spreading along the snow-swept road. “Didn’t say why. Probably to take a piss and to search for his wolf.”

Val nodded her head in understanding and followed the direction Sigorn had given her.

The snow beneath her feet was soft and grew higher the deeper she further she ventured into the woods. Finding Jon’s trail was not hard, but it took her a while before she found him seated beneath a large oak, his blade bare and placed on his thighs. Ghost was not far, his massive body curled beneath his feet.

Ghost was the first one to notice her approach, his ruby eyes meeting hers. His jaw and paws were covered in blood. He obviously went hunting.

“Did Sigorn sent you?” Jon asked and continued to oil his blade, _Longclaw_.

“Aye,” Val confirmed hesitatingly and drew closer. She allowed a hesitant smile to cross over her lips as she searched his gaze. Ever since, they had left his little brother Jon had hardly spoken to anyone. Jon had never been much of a talker, but now he was often cold and unyielding like the morning chill.

 _He is angry_ , she knew. She also understood that he felt the need to protect his little brother, but the Old Crow had helped them and mayhaps Jon’s crow friend was right. Mayhaps Jon’s little brother was meant for greater things.

_Still, I must find a way to rouse him out of his stupor._

“Sigorn was afraid you ran away,” Val added teasingly.

A ghost of a smile washed over his lips, but it hardly reached his face. The bright morning light made it appear paler than usual. It looked like chipped from ice and built a sharp contrast to his brown hair.

“I would never leave without Sam,” Jon replied amusedly and sheathed his blade, before moving aside to make space for her. “And it is too late to change my mind about this matter. I know you hate crows, but it does not sit well with me to kill men who were once my brothers. Some of them were my friends.”

 _Are your friends_ , she felt the urge to correct him, but refrained from doing so. Val still perceived the crows as enemies, but she also recalled what Mance had told her before her departure.

_The boy is our best hope. Do not kill him unless it is necessary._

Not that she wanted to kill Jon Snow. She had come to like him, but then she was also a woman of the Free Folk and their survival was more important than Jon Snow’s pretty cock.

“I will make sure that my people stick to your plan, Jon,” she assured him and leaned closer, her braid spilling over her shoulder as she moved. “We won’t butcher them. Only those who stand in our way. This I promise.”

Jon didn’t smile. He nodded quietly and brushed his long hair out of his face.

Then, he frowned.

“My hair is getting too long,” Jon remarked, his voice laced with annoyance. “I should have cut it before our departure.”

Val laughed, strangely amused by Jon Snow’s hairy problem. Most men of the Free Folk didn’t care about their hair. They allow it to grow as they pleased.

Jarl had been a rare exception.

“Come here,” she prodded and pulled out her knife. “I will do it.”

Jon gave her a skeptical look, but eventually allowed her to cut his hair. Val worked quickly and cut Jon’s hair until it was no longer than her thumb.

“The long hair suited you better,” she remarked once she was finished and brushed her hand through his hair. “You look like a young boy again, despite your blooming beard.”

Jon half-frowned, half-smiled, his hands reaching for her. She tried to get away, but Jon’s grip was stronger than expected. She continued to struggle against his grip and soon they were rolling in the snow, the cold substance burning on her skin.

“It seems this young boy captured you, my lady,” he declared teasingly once he had managed to roll her on her back, the weight of his body pressing her down into the soft snow. Suddenly, she felt no longer cold and felt the stirrings of pleasure in her lower regions. Especially, when his mouth was so close to hers, his warm breath tickling her cheek.

“I am no lady,” she countered stubbornly, balled her fist and hit his shoulder. “You should know that by now.”

Jon laughed hoarsely and his lips brushed over hers, prying them open while his hand slipped beneath her tunic.

Val shuddered when he palmed her breast, his fingers cold as ice. It was a pleasant pain and an intense contrast to his hot mouth, feasting on her frozen lips.

Val didn’t remain idle and slipped her hand into his breeches, touching him. He endured her attentions admirably and soon returned the favour, the touch of his fingers making her curl with pleasure.

When Jon bit her lips and drew blood, she knew he was ready.

“What are you waiting for, Jon Snow!” she quipped impatiently. “We don’t have much time.”

Jon lifted himself from her so she was able to pull down her breeches, before slipping inside her with one quick thrust, a hoarse grunt escaping his mouth.

Then, it was all impact and heated pants; her back was pressed into the soft snow, his hips moving against hers in an instinct-driven rhythm. Their coupling was primal, driven by the need to forget the coming battle…

Soon she also forgot the cold, little gasps escaping her lips, mingling with his hoarse grunts of pleasure. A white wave of pleasure blinded her momentarily and a moment later he spent himself hard between her thighs.

Exhausted, he sank down on her, his head resting against her shoulder and his quick breathing piercing the silence that had settled over them.

Val frowned and pulled on his shoulder, to rouse him from his stupor.

“There is no time for sleep!” she complained and patted his shoulder. “Jon Snow.”

Jon chuckled, his lips brushing along her neck and lips, before rolling off her. He was quick to lace up his breeches as if he believed the sight of his pretty cock could frighten her.

Val followed suit and fastened her own clothing, before pulling on her boots.

When she lifted her head she noticed Ghost’s presence, his wet nose touching her cheek.

“Do you think it bothered him to watch us?” Jon Snow asked one of his odd questions.

Val rolled her eyes and pulled herself to her feet. “He is probably jealous. He needs to find himself a bitch.”

A ghost of a smile curled on Jon’s lips. “I suppose so.”

“Everyone likes to fuck, Jon Snow,” Val quipped and picked up her spear. “Even though your crow friends think it is a crime.”

Jon grabbed her arm, pulling her along, Ghost prowling after them through snow. “You are wrong. Crows like to fuck just as much as other men. Most of my brothers like to go to Mole’s Town to visit the wh…I mean the ladies.”

Val stopped abruptly and gave him a disbelieving look.

“Mance told us something different,” she muttered and realized with annoyance that Mance had taken her for a fool. “I always knew that it was horseshit. No man can endure such a life without fearing for his balls.”

Jon Snow chuckled. “It is not that bad, you know. There are other ways to find satisfaction.”

Val frowned at that, but accepted his explanation.

When they returned to the camp, Tormund and the others were already waiting for them.

Noticing Tormund’s knowing smile, she knew that a silly comment was inevitable.

“Ah,” he said and took a gulp from his waterskin. “Nothing better than a good fuck before battle, am I right?”

“Shut your mouth, Giantsbane,” Val replied in amusement and let go of Jon’s arm. “You are just jealous, because your last woman left you.”

“That blasted woman didn’t leave me,” Tormund grumbled. “I left her.”

“Horseshit!” Ygritte snapped. “We all know that you are a liar!.

Soren Shieldbreaker and the Thenns snickered.

Sigorn was more poised and shifted his gaze to Jon Snow.

“It is time, Jon Snow.”

Jon nodded his head and glimpsed at his crow friend, who was seated beneath the tree, his woman Gilly suckling her mewling babe.

Jon called him his friend, but Val couldn’t bring herself to fully trust this weepy crow boy.

“Are you ready, Sam?” Jon asked and smiled.

The crow boy returned his smile.

“I am ready,” he stuttered and shivered like a young tree bared to a storm. “But what will happen to Gilly and her babe?”

“Gilly can go with the rearguard. She will be safe,” Jon Snow promised.

 _Only if we take Castle Black_ , Val knew, but kept these thoughts to herself. She didn’t want to make the crow boy weep.

…


	11. Jon

**Jon**

The thick mist that had hung over the Wall was finally dissolving, allowing Jon a glimpse at the moon-cast stone towers and timber keeps of Castle Black. In truth, it was no real castle like Winterfell as it had no walls to defend it. The Wall to the North was its only viable protection.

“Castle Black looks smaller than I imagined,” Val remarked bluntly as ever.

“The Wall is big enough,” Jon countered in amusement and earned himself a round of laughter. They counted not more than thirty men. Most of them were Thenn men who were led by Sigorn, but there was also Longspear Ryke and his two brothers.

 _If I look back I am lost_ , Jon reminded himself and touched Ghost’s head. To feel his wolf’s presence gave him the reassurances he needed, but it couldn’t ease the guilt clenching around his heart like a tight noose.  _It needs to be done._

“Jon,” Sam’s stuttering voice snapped him back to the present. “Are you well?”

Jon swallowed hard and met his friend’s gaze. “I am well, Sam. It is time.”

Sam paled visibly and exhaled deeply. “Aye, it is time.”

Jon exchanged a last look with Val and mounted his horse, leading it along the muddy trail.

And while Castle Black had no walls, there was a watch tower made from timber and tone and usually guarded by two or three men.

As they approached said watchtower, they were greeted by two familiar faces. The elder one was called Kedge Whiteye, who had served as a ranger since he was a boy of ten. The other one was a young man Jon knew only in passing. His name was Tim Stone, a blond-haired and freckled bastard from the Vale.

Kedge Whiteye’s presence took Jon off guard. He could only mean one thing, namely that Castle Black was low on men.

 _What happened_ , Jon wondered. _Where did the garrison go?_

Before the Great Ranging Castle Black’s garrison had counted about six hundred men, but more than two hundred had accompanied Lord Commander Mormont beyond the Wall. By numbers they still surpassed Jon’s host, but many of them were green recruits who wouldn’t be able to hold a candlestick against a Thenn warrior. They also had the element of surprise on their side as Jon had taken great care to remain unnoticed. Instead of passing Mole’s Town they had avoided the town altogether and had only moved at night to shadow their movements.

“Gods be good!” Kedge exclaimed, his mean eye fixed on Jon. “It’s Jon Snow!”

“And Samwell Tarly!” the freckled boy added. Hearing the boy’s enthusiasm made Jon’s stomach twist with guilt.

 _Not now_ , Jon reminded himself.  _If I look back I am lost._

Thus, Jon forced a smile over his lips and recalled his mummer’s lines.

“It seems your one good eye didn’t betray you,” Jon replied jestingly. “It’s me…Jon Snow and Samwell Tarly.”

Kedge didn’t smile, his mean eye piercing into Jon’s.

“The others said you got lost beyond the Wall, Snow,” Kedge countered suspiciously and directed his gaze to Sam. “And you…Grenn told us you died. Well, it is good that you made it back. We are in dire need of reinforcements. The acting Lord Steward Bowen Marsh took three-hundred men to meet the Wildlings in battle, leaving us with barely fourty men, most of them old, injured or green boys.”

 _Gods be good_ , Jon thought and recalled what Mawney had told them about the attack on the Fist of the First Men.

_The living dead came for us. The Lord Commander rallied fifty brothers onto horseback and managed to break out the Fist. Those that remained behind died and we the survivors, barely made here to Craster’s Keep. We were desperate…that is why they killed the Lord Commander. They were sick and tired of bleeding for him._

Someone like Thorne would have slit the boy’s throat for his treacherous words, but Jon would be a hypocrite if he punished Mawney for something he was doing himself. Jon might not have taken part in the killing, but Jon was about to betray everything the Old Bear had held dear.

“We found Craster’s Keep destroyed,” Sam added carefully. “There were too many corpses…we burned it down.”

Kedge nodded his head in understanding, a seldom smile curling on his lips. “Mormont should have done this a long time ago. This was a cursed and godless place. Good that it is gone, though it won’t be much use. The Wildlings are coming.”

“Aye,” Jon agreed and purposely rubbed his shoulders, his breath rising into the air in puffs of white mist. It was bitterly cold, but it had been much worse Beyond the Wall. The weather here was almost pleasant. “If you allow us entrance I shall tell you everything about it.”

“Certainly,” Kedge replied, his voice laced with curiosity. “Come and have a cup of mulled wine with us…to get warm.”

“A cup of mulled wine would be very welcome,” Jon agreed and forced a frozen smile over his lips. Sam didn’t follow. He stood there like a fool until Jon angled his head to grace Sam with an assuring smile. “Don’t you agree, Sam?”

Sam smiled and shuddered at the same time. “Very welcome.”

“Then, come inside,” Tim Stone offered and opened the wooden door.

Jon nodded his head in agreement and followed Kedge, his heart nearly jumping out of his chest as he brushed his hand over the hilt of his sword.

It felt so wrong, but it was the only way.

Jon had barely stepped a foot inside the round chamber before he had drawn his blade and had buried it in Kedge’s back. The old man hadn’t even been able to cry out, before he collapsed like a puppet without strings.

“Traitor!” Tim Stone shouted and lifted his spear in attack.

Jon freed Longclaw and the sharp Valyrian Steel cut off the boy’s hand with one quick swoop before he was able to cry out once more. The boy was staring back at Jon in horror, his hand nothing more than a bloody stump. It was a grizzly sight, the blood dripping on his boots.

Jon didn’t give him a chance to cry out and slashed his blade over his throat. Blood spluttered from his mouth and collapsed to the ground.

Exhaling deeply, Jon shifted is attention back to Sam, who was staring back at him with wide eyes.

“Come inside,” Jon urged and closed the door behind them. “I must inform the others that the path ahead is clear. You know what that means.”

“Aye,” Sam confirmed and took hold of his arm. “I know.”

Jon nodded his head and allowed his mind to slip away, though only momentarily.

A wolf howl pierced the silent night, giving the signal for attack.

Their plan was a simple one. The “vanguard” of thirty men would join him at the watchtower while the rest of their men had split up into two groups to attack from the east and the west, one group being under the command of Soren Shieldbreaker and the other under the command of Tormund Giantsbane.

At last there was a small “rearguard” of fifteen men under Ygritte’s command that was meant to catch brothers who might try to flee to the Shadowtower and Eastwach-by-the-Sea.

When Jon slipped back into his body, he found himself steadied by Sam, who was still shivering from head to toe, his face as pale as curdled milk.

 _Forgive me for doing this to you_ , Jon wanted to say, but he couldn’t allow himself to show such weakness in front of Val and the others.

I am no longer a member of the Night’s Watch. I am an oathbreaker.

“Where do we go first?” Val asked after she had slipped inside the small chamber, Sigorn and Longspear Ryke following her.

“Like I showed you…I want Ryke to secure the barracks,” Jon explained. “According to these two only fourty men are residing in the castle. The Old Flint barrack is the place where most of them will be residing at this time of the day. The rest have sleeping places at the Hardin’s Tower and the Lance, but it will be my task to secure them. Some will put up a fight, but others will try to flee. Do not kill them unless it is necessary. I might be able to convince some of them to join our side.”

Sigorn looked skeptical, but Jon continued to explain.

“If all goes well Tormund will join you in this task while the Shieldbreaker will secure the Tower of the guards, which guards the wooden stair.

“Understood,” Sigorn agreed impatiently, his grey eyes alight with understanding. He was not only an able fighter, but also intelligent. He only hoped Tormund memorized Jon’s miniature map of stones and wooden sticks as well as Sigorn. “And I shall secure the armory and the rookery.”

“Good,” Jon replied, but didn’t share his enthusiasm for the upcoming struggle. It was bad enough that he had killed two of his brothers. “But beware of Donal Noye. He is the smith and a strong fighter. Do not underestimate him.”

Sigorn grinned and freed his blade. “My blade thirst’s for crow blood.”

“Kill only those who attack you. That is all I ask,” Jon repeated for the second time today.

“You have my word,” Val promised and so did Sigorn, but Jon had no doubt that some of their companions won’t care about his wishes.

At last, Jon shifted his attention to Sam, who looked as if he was about to collapse, tears shining in his eyes.

He will only be a burden.

“Sam. Go back to Gilly. You have done what I have asked of you.”

It was the blowing of a horn that announced the beginning of their gruesome task.

For Jon it felt like a bad dream as he walked over the courtyard, his body tense like a bowstring. As expected, they had met resistance. A handful of brothers had armed themselves with crossbows, bows and others with swords and spears.

Ghost had hauled two of the crossbow men to the ground and had torn apart another while Val and Sigorn’s men had engaged the bowmen and the spearmen. Jon himself had cut down a spearman, before burying his blade in the back of another brother. The blood dripping to the ground was the proof of his treachery, but Jon banished these thoughts away before they could take hold of his restless mind.

They fought two more brief battles as they continued to secure the Lance and Hardin’s Tower. It was a bloody, but easy enough task, but securing the keep that harbored the common hall much harder.

The moment Jon had entered the hall an arrow snapped past his head and hit one of the Thenn men. Jon heard the man’s gasp of pain and felt Val’s grip on his shoulder, before he found himself pulled to the ground, a handful of more arrows snapping over his head.

When Jon lifted his head to get a glimpse at his enemy hiding behind thrown-over trestle tables, he froze.

The men who had unleashed the arrows upon him wore familiar faces.

There was Grenn, tall and strong as Jon recalled him, Pyp with his large wiggly ears and Edd, all thin and grey-haired.

“Fuck!” Pyp exclaimed, a hint of disbelief evident on his longish face. “It’s Jon.”

“He is with them,” Grenn grumbled and lifted his crossbow. “He betrayed us.”

“That’s the  sad truth isn’t it, Jon Snow?” Edd asked dourly and jerked his head at Val and the Thenn men. “Those are Wildlings.”

“I can explain it…,” Jon began and stretched out his hand to keep Val and the others from attacking his friends.

 _No more_ , Jon reminded himself and gritted his teeth.  _They are no longer my brothers. They are no longer my friends._

“I am not going to lie about my intentions,” Jon replied and exhaled deeply as he searched Grenn’s face. “I admit I helped these so-called Wildings to cross the Wall, but I had good reasons. The dead men are on the march. Sam told me you saw them too.”

Grenn swallowed hard and quickly lowered his crossbow. “Aye, we did. Did you also encounter the dead men?”

“Aye,” Jon confirmed in relief. “I saw them and the creatures leading them. The Others.”

“The Others,” Edd muttered, his face growing as pale as his grey hair. “What comes next? Mermaids? Giants?”

“Mance commands several hundred giants,” Val pointed out.

“That’s what I am saying,” Edd countered sardonically. “Much worse than I thought.”

“They won’t harm you,” Jon promised. “I came to an understanding with Mance Ryder. In exchange for allowing him and his people pass the Wall he promised to help us man the Wall. Lay down your weapons and no harm shall come to you. I promise.”

“Stick your promise elsewhere bastard!” Othell Yarwyck snarled and unleashed another arrow at Jon.

Jon ducked beneath the table, but grabbed Val’s shoulder before she could do something stupid.

“No!” he shouted at Val and the others. “Please! No fighting!”

“Yarwyck speaks true,” Deaf Dick Follard countered icily, but grabbed Yarwyck’s arm, before he was able to waste another arrow at Jon. “Why should we trust an oathbreaker. Besides, what makes you so sure that Mance won’t break his promise? I rather die fighting than end up a prisoner of this Wildling scum.”

“Free Folk!” Val grumbled at the man. “We are called the Free Folk!”

“Does it really matter,” Edd quipped, his voice laced with anxiety and his crossbow held before him. “Wildings or Free Folk. You want to kill us, right? That’s all I need to know.

“I already told you,” Jon insisted. “You do not need to die. Put down your weapons and you shall live. Let us fight the real enemy.”

Pyp looked skeptical and searched Jon’s face, his pale lips quivering with fear. Finally, he dropped his weapon.

“I don’t want to die. I yield.”

“And I have seen the Others,” Green added and lowered his weapon.  “You have as well, haven’t you, Edd?”

“Aye, an experience worse than having to face my late mother,” Edd remarked, but kept his weapon in place. “Say we surrender. What will you do with us?”

“Take you prisoner,” Jon replied, not sugar-coating their fate. “But I will set you free if you are prepared to accept the Free Folk as our allies. I am sure Mance will agree as well.”

“Fuck Mance!” Yarwyck snarled. “He is just as much as a traitor as you. You may be able to take Castle Black, but Marsh has three hundred fighting men. We are going to die, but you are also as good as dead, bastard.”

“Mance’s host counts a hundred thousand and more than a hundred giants,” Jon gave them the cold truth. “There is no way the Night’s Watch could prevail against them in the long term. Why waste men to fight them when we can make them our allies? Why can’t you see the truth? The Others and their army of dead men are our enemies, not the Wildlings.”

“Mayhaps you are right about the Night’s Watch,” Follard agreed. “But Maester Aemon dispatched ravens to the Northern Houses. They will not look kindly upon you, Jon Snow.”

 _Robb_ , Jon thought and felt both relief and dread when he thought of his brother.  _What will he think of me, brother? Will you think me a wicked bastard like your mother always believed?_

_No, Robb is my brother. If there is anyone who would believe me it is Robb._

“My brother won’t fight me,” Jon countered and rose back to his feet, his gaze sweeping over his friends. “Robb will believe me. Please, do not make this harder than necessary.”

“I wasn’t talking about Robb Stark,” Follard replied smugly. “Robb Stark is dead. The Boltons rule Winterfell.”

Jon felt as if someone had poured a bucket of cold water over his head.

_No, it can’t be true. Robb…he can’t be dead._

“You are lying,” Jon stuttered, fighting with his emotions. “You are trying to fool me.”

“He was killed at a wedding,” Yarwyck snarled. “Got a traitor’s death like your father, bastard!”

A rush of anger overcame him, making him blind to reason and the fact that Yarwyck was armed with bow.

Jon hopped over the table, the crossbow pointing at him. His heart was pounding wildly and behind him he heard Ghost’s growl.

Yarwyck’s crossbow missed him barely, but it was not enough to stop him.

Without hesitation Jon climbed over the table and buried his blade in Yarwyck’s neck.

Hot blood splattered on Jon’s face, but it was a balm for his bleeding heart.

“Who wants to be next?” he asked, but fell silent when he realized that Follard had died as well. Ghost sat on top of him, the man’s neck torn and bloody from his wolf’s sharp teeth.

Jon shuddered and turned around to find Pyp, Grenn and Edd staring back at him in horror.

Pyp dipped his head and repeated his answer.

“I yield.”

“I yield as well,” Grenn added and swallowed hard as Ghost returned to Jon’s side. “Do not make me regret my decision, Jon.”

Jon should have felt happy, but he felt only pain. A sharp and pain that made him wish to hide away and weep.

_He didn’t tell me! He knew and he didn’t tell me! Damn you, Bloodraven!”_

“What about you, Edd?” Jon asked, his voice strained and distant to his ears. “Do you yield?”

Surprisingly, Edd started to laugh and threw his crossbow on the ground.

“You know, I joined the Night’s Watch, because Yoren told me that the ladies would appreciate my sacrifice. What a fool I was. Well, it seems I must become a Wildling.”

“Free Folk,” Val corrected him again and touched Jon’s shoulder, her grey eyes searching his. She looked slightly worried. “Are you well?”

Jon brushed her hand away and forced a smile over his lip.

“I am well. Put them under guard and let us move on. There is still much we need to do.”

Jon was more than relieved when he heard no word of protest.

Stepping out unto the courtyard, he froze. He spotted a good dozen of dead black brothers, some of them more familiar than others.

Among the dead were also a handful Thenn men, their bodies littered with arrows.

Jon ignored the sight and moved onwards, not surprised to meet Sigorn along the way.

He was flanked by his men, most of them devoid of the black cloak their leader had donned.

“There you are, Jon Snow,” Sigorn greeted him, his armor splattered with blood. “We have cleared the armory and Tormund and Ryke have secured the staircase. Many of your crow friends died. A good dozen remain alive, among them the blind crow you told me about. Sadly, the man taking care of him tried to fight us and we were forced to kill him.”

Jon sucked in a deep breath and braced himself for the talk with Maester Aemon.

 _I need to convince him_ , Jon knew, for if he managed to convince Maester Aemon he might also be able to convince his brothers residing at the Shadow Tower and at Eastwatch.  _I need to convince him of the truth._

“Jon,” Val’s voice roused him from his frozen state. “Did you hear?”

“Aye,” Jon confirmed and nodded his head. “I heard.”

Then, he lifted his head and smiled at Val.

“Please call for Sam. I will need him when I am speaking to Maester Aemon.”

Val nodded her head and squeezed his shoulder.

“About your brother…,” she began, but Jon cut her off. He didn’t want to speak about it. He needed to forget about the pain. He needed to focus on the task lying ahead of him.

“Later,” he assured her. “Later.”

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be focused on the talk between Jon and Aemon.
> 
> Jon only has Castle Black, but no control over the Shadow Tower or Eastwatch. The other castles are unmanned.
> 
> Thorne isn't as prominent in the books as in the show. In the books he wasn't even among those who killed Jon. He will appear later.
> 
> And in regards to Stannis: I won't kill him off and he is going to fight Jon. Some here mentioned that Jon would stand no chance, but I have to disagree. Stannis is a capable commander, but the reason he won in the books was because he had the element of surprise on his side. His pincer movement only worked so well, because Mance didn't expect him. Here Mance will be able to cross the Wall without much problems, though it would be difficult to allow all Wildlings through at once. It won't be as easy and it will take time. And most importantly, Jon has access to the armory of Castle Black and knows how to fight knights. The Wildlings are not bad fighters and better suited to fight in the cold climate of the North. Better suited at least that Stannis southron knights. However, that doesn't mean it will be an easy fight. Jon's greatest disadvantage is that Castle Black has no walls and Stannis could easily march from Eastwatch towards Castle Black, though for that to happen he must first be aware of Jon's presence at Castle Black. Jon secured the ravens and the rookery. It will take time for Stannis to arrive and to even hear about this. It is still going to be a bloody battle.
> 
> Ah, yes. And Bloodraven has an interest in Jon's victory. He might give Jon a warning.
> 
> Just one question. I have searched everywhere, but I was unable to find out how many men Stannis actually has after the Battle of Blackwater. If someone could tell me I would be very thankful.


	12. Sam

**Sam**

“Jon is here, Maester Aemon,” Sam said after he had wrapped a thick cloak around the Maester Aemon’s shoulders. He had been unaffected by the battle, but he hadn’t spoken much since one of the Wildlings had allowed Sam to see Maester Aemon. “He came to speak to you.”

The old man lifted his head, his unseeing pale eyes seeking the direction of Sam’s voice. He looked more like a swaddled babe than a man counting over a hundred namedays. “Leave us then, Samwell. I am comfortable enough.”

“No,” Jon said, his voice raspy. His long face looked paler than usual, his cheeks hollow and his eyes red-rimmed. _It is because of his brother_ , Sam knew and shuddered. _He is dead. Killed at a wedding._ “I want Sam to stay. I trust him.”.

“Very well, my boy,” Maester Aemon agreed and nodded his head in agreement. “But I do not understand what we should speak about. You made your choice and I doubt an old man like me would be of much use to you in your future endeavors.”

There had been a chiding tone to his voice, but otherwise Maester Aemon appeared calm as ever. Sam envied him for it.

“You are well-respected in the Night’s Watch,” Jon explained and drew closer, trudging through the dimly-lit chamber. Shadows danced against the walls and candles flickered. The smell of ink and raven shit lay heavy in Sam’s nose. “I need to convince the brothers at Eastwatch and the Shadow Tower to lay down their weapons. I want them to make peace with the Free Folk…to man the Wall and fight our common enemy.”

Maester Aemon had listened in silence, his grip on the handle of his chair opening and tightening with every word spilling from Jon’s lips.

Then, he exhaled again and angled his head in Jon’s direction. He stood only a few steps away from the old man’s chair, looming over him like a giant.

“Our common enemy you say,” Maester Aemon repeated. “I heard about _them_ from the other recruits. Does that mean you saw _them_ too?”

“I fought them. One of them nearly killed me,” Jon said and knelt down beside the old man, covering his hand. “They are as real as you and me, Maester Aemon. The Free Folk has experienced their terror and _their_ return is the reason they are fleeing south. They did not come to pillage the North, they are only trying to survive. Do you understand what I am trying to say?”

“I understand,” Maester Aemon confirmed and dropped his chin to his chest. “But I fear I don’t have the power to convince my brothers to lay down their weapons. They would assume that you forced me.”

 “Probably,” Jon said and chuckled. “But I want to try it anyway…I have no other choice. Will you help me?”

“I fear I have to refuse,” Maester Aemon replied regretfully. “It would go against…,” he began, but Jon cut him off.

“Your vows? How so? The vow says ‘to protect the realms of men’. Aye, I broke my vows, but not this part. The Free Folk are also men I say and they are not the true enemy. The Others are.”

“I hear you, my boy,” Aemon replied and squeezed Jon’s hand. “But…,” he began, but Jon cut him off again, an expression of fear glinting in his dark eyes that Sam had never seen before.

“There is more,” Jon explained in a low voice. “When I was beyond the Wall, I met an old friend of yours…Lord Bloodraven sends his greetings.”

A wisp of expiration escaped Maester Aemon’s lips, his pale eyes growing incredibly wide.

“That is impossible.”

“It is not,” Sam added quickly. “His servant…he saved us. He commanded crows…thousands of them.”

“Crows,” Maester Aemon gasped, an expression of realization washing over his aged face. Then, he suddenly smiled in disbelief. “Aye, Bloodraven liked those to keep him company.”

“Lord Bloodraven…he calls himself now the Three-Eyed-Crow. He revealed to me the truth…the truth about my mother,” Jon explained in a trembling voice, his dark eyes only fixed on the old man in front of him. “Her name was Lyanna Stark.”

Sam was confused by this answer more than he wanted to admit. Wasn’t Lyanna Stark Jon’s Aunt?

Yet, Master Aemon seemed to understand the implications at once, his breathing growing labored as the moment of silence lengthened.

Suddenly, the old man’s bushy eyebrows furrowed, his labored breathing hitching in his throat. “And your father?”

Jon Snow’s face grew only longer as he leaned closer, his voice quiet as answered the old man’s question.

“Prince Rhaegar,” Jon Snow replied. “Lord Stark made me his bastard to protect me. Lady Lyanna was never raped by Prince Rhaegar. It was another lie.”

The old Maester fell silent again, ringing with his composure as Sam himself tried his best to wrap his head around what Jon had just revealed to them.

“That makes you a Targaryen bastard, no?” Sam asked in awe and eyed Jon once more. Sam had never seen a Targaryen in flesh and blood, only pictures.

Jon had inherited the Stark coloring, but with a painting he might be able to find some similarities. Sadly, such paintings were hard to come by at this place.

“Perhaps not,” Jon replied in a conflicting tone, his dark eyes still fixed on Maester Aemon. “It seemed Prince Rhaegar wed my mother, though I do not know how legitimate a second marriage would be in the eyes of the Seven. Not that it matters. Any witness of such marriage would be long dead. I did not tell you this to claim the crown, Maester Aemon. I told you, because I thought you deserved to know the truth. I do not know what to think of my father, but at least he was no rapist.”

“Prince Rhaegar was a melancholic man,” Maester Aemon replied in a trembling voice as he leaned forward, his fingertips brushing over Jon’s cheek. “I never believed he would be capable of such a heinous crime. He was to soft-hearted for that.”

“He had a wife, though,” Jon pointed out, his voice laced with guilt. “She was murdered. His children too, my half-brother and half-sister. They were barely out of their swaddling clothes. I do not know what to make of that.”

Maester Aemon said nothing as he continued to trace his fingers over Jon’s face.

When he was finished, he dropped his hand back into his lap and sucked in a deep breath.

“I can only imagine how you must feel, my boy,” Maester Aemon said at last, tears shining in his pale eyes. “But whatever happened to them wasn’t your fault. I held correspondence with your father throughout his youth. He was very interested in prophecies and tales of the North. Perhaps that was the reason he was drawn to your mother, but he never exposed his heart to me in such a manner. Whatever his intentions were, it is pointless to think about them now. He is gone and you are all that is left.”

“There are Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys. Lord Stark spoke about them. They are still alive.”

“True,” Maester Aemon admitted in a sad voice. “But they are far away and you are here, my boy.”

“I shall find them if I can, but for now my duty is here,” Jon replied, looking close to tears. “To fight the Others.”

“To fight the Others,” Maester Aemon agreed. “As will I. It seems my work is not yet done.”

Sheer relief showed on Jon’s face.

His smile was laced with sadness, but it was still a smile.

“Does that mean you will help me?”

A ghost of a smile crinkled on Measter Aemon’s lips.

“I shall do my best.”

…


End file.
